No Rest For The Wicked
by The Magnificent Kiwi
Summary: Suze lost everything following the death of her boyfriend and when she meets the mysterious Jesse de Silva she is thrown into the path of the same evil force that killed Paul. Will she be able to avenge his death? And will she learn to love again? JS AU
1. Conning The de Silvas

**Death Ain't No Way To Make A Living**

**_Suze Simon has a gift. She can communicate with the dead. But instead of using her powers for good, she uses them for her own benefit, setting up a scam through her Psychic Investigator business. But when more and more people start to die in increasingly strange ways, she is drawn into a far bigger game. Accompanied by a reluctant dectective and hindered by a psychotic reporter, she sets about redeeming herself by stopping the supernatural force behind the deaths. But she soon realises that there is more to the deaths than meets the eye. How will she fare against this new, seemingly unstoppableenemy?_**

_**Prologue - **Conning the de Silva's_

_"The wicked will be punished"- Mrs. Bradley, **The Frighteners**_

"Yup, Simon. Aha. Ok, sit tight, I'll be right there."

I slammed the phone back into its cradle and began to run out of the house, pulling my coat from its hook as I passed. For the first time in months, I did not notice the small chunks of wood that flaked away from the wall as I did this. I guess that's what I get for doing nothing about the repairs. Like I could afford to do anything about them, anyway. And if I did have enough money to repair this piece of junk that I call a house, my first priority would be to get a proper roof. You know, one that does not have foot-long holes in it. Sometimes, I don't even need to get out of bed to shower in the morning.

Not that my shower works.

I slammed the door to my car shut and sped off into the distance, praying that they had got it right this time. There is nothing more embarassing than demanding money from folks who obviously don't think they need to give it. Of course, it takes a little bit of friendly persuasion. Usually in the form of a carefully planted poltergeist. A posession if that doesn't convince them.

My car rattled ominously as I sped around the corners but I continued down the road. I was thankful that there were no cops on the roads at night. I couldn't afford to pay another speeding ticket and outrunning them is no longer an option because they now know where I live.

When I finally reached the house, I parked half on-half off the sidewalk. Well, the driveway was full so what else was I supposed to do?

My knock on the front door was answered by a pretty youngHispanic woman. To say that she looked relieved when she laid eyes on me would be a bit of an understatement.

"Oh, thank you so much for coming!" she gushed. "Especially at one o'clock in the morning. I'm Marta."

Anything for money, girl, anything for money.

"Where is the activity?" I asked, trying hard to conceal the anger in my voice.

The house was quiet...almost peaceful. If you ignored the fact that it looked like a small hurricane had ripped through it. Fragments of plates and glasses littered the floor and books with their spines and pages brutally ripped apart scattered the areas that the china didn't cover.

I followed the Spanish girl to the kitchen, clutching my Jansport as I walked. When we entered the kitchen, I saw that three other people were crowded around a small table. Two girls, who looked to be aged between sixteen and twenty, looked scared out of their wits. The other person, however - a man in his early-to-mid-twenties - looked completely unconvinced.

"Well, everything went quite just before you arrived,"Marta explained. I sighed, hoping that she didn't notice.

"Did...um...did the smoke alarm go off?" I asked. Marta looked thoughtful for a moment or two before shaking her head.

"No, it didn't."

Great.

"How about the toilet? Did it start spewing water all over the bathroom?"

"I don't think so."

They are _so _dead.

"Did the curtains fall down?"

This time I got a response. One of the girls at the table jumped up.

"Yes! And they went all weird...like they twisted into-" She began.

"Into the shape of a human figure?" I finished for her. She nodded furiously.

_Perfect._

"Aha!" I said, clicking my fingers. "Residual energy. Emotions taking on physical form...manifestations. Only this time they weren't visible with the naked eye."

I unzipped my Jansport and fished out my candles and record cards. Of course, I never performed real exorcisms. I simply performed a blessing, which caused the air around the candles to stir. To the untrained eye, it looked like some unseen force was throwing things around. If I wanted money off these peole, I needed to give them a show.

"It will cost a hundred bucks for a clearance," I explained. "And there's a ten percent service charge for calls after midnight. "

I think that she would have paid a _thousand_ if I had asked. So, cash in my pocket, I began to melt the candles to the tiles. No chicken blood this time. I didn't want to scare them.

They all watched intently as I read from the cards and the three girls ducked beneath the table as the books and pieces of china circled the candles. It was all over in a few minutes, but I was satisfied that they believed their money was wel spent. At least they wouldn't demand their money back. Sorry girls, no refunds... 

Although, through the entire performance, the man didn't even flinch. He was beginning to irritate me.

"Thank you so much!" One of the other girls said, her voice full of sincerity. "Jesse said that we shouldn't have bothered calling you. But he wasn't the one whose curtains were walking across his room!"

I turned to look at 'Jesse' and he observed me with what I can only assume was skepticism.

"Well, if Miss Simon's work is done, then I guess that she'd better get going," he said as I shovelled my candles back into my Jansport. I glared at him. I did _not_ like his attitude.

"Well, I guess I will go, since my services are no longer required," I replied, smiling through my teeth. He just glared right back at me. I wondered which one of these girls was unfortunate enough to be his wife, then I noticed the lack of a ring on his finger. He must be their brother. Poor girls...that means he has known them all their lives.

I turned away from him and went to say goodbye to Marta. I froze when my eyes fell on her.

"What?" She asked, taken aback.

There, in the middle of her forehead, was the number '31', as if it had been carved into her forehead with a knife. The blood trickled down into her eyes. Why wasn't she trying to wipe the blood away?

"What's the number for?" I asked her, my voice breaking mid-sentence.

Instinctively, she raised a hand to her forehead and rubbed the numbers. However, it became obvious that she could not feel them as her fingers fell away and a look of confusion spread across her youthful features.

"Number?" She asked, becoming frightened. "What number?"

I would have replied if her brother had not chosen that moment to grasp my arm rather roughly and drag me towards the front door.

"Ignore her, Marta," he said. "She is just trying to get more money out of you. We don't _need _your help. Now go!"

Then, he flung me violently into the dark, empty street. The cold night air licked at my sensitive skin and I began to shiver.

With one last hostile glance in my direction, Jesse slammed the door shut. Wow. I pissed a guy off in twenty minutes. _Cool._

Still, as I slowly drove home, I couldn't forget the image of those ghostly numbers chisled into young Marta's forehead. What were they? What did they mean? I swear, if_ they_ are responsible for this, they will be haunting the sewers from now on.

I pulled up to my house just before two am. But it didn't matter. It wasn't as if I had a job. The only way I could make a living was dishonestly. Sure, it did eat away at my conscience sometimes, but what else wasI supposed to do? Sleep on the streets? Move back in with my mom? Ugh, please. I'm twenty-one now...I'm independant...at least I'm supposed to be.

My car rattled again as I slammed the door shut and my passengers voice their disgust at my 'reckless' driving.

"One of these days, you're gonna find yourself in the slammer," one of them said. This man was in his thirties and dressed in a similar way to the guy from Undercover Brother. Except this guy was white and his clothes were different shades of brown. His hair was styled in a Luke Duke kind of way and his boots probably belonged to Billy The Kid once.

A murmur of agreement came from his companion, a woman in her mid twenties. This woman wore combat pants and a tight-fitting white tank which was coveredby a plain black track jacket.

The most noticable thing about these two companions was the glow that surrounded them. Yes, these two people happened to be dead.

Did I forget to mention the fact that I can see ghosts? Well, I can. Don't ask me how...it is something I was born with. It is my job to finish whatever business is keeping them in this world. At least, that's what I was told. And it just seems like the right thing to do, you know?

Unlike the little scam I've got going...

Ralph died in the seventies, hence the ridiculous outfit. Unless I am mistaken, he died in a car accident. Morgan, on the other hand, died at the gym two years ago, which is why she wore what she did. Apparantly she was in the middle of a workout when her heart just gave out. Her doctor had warned her, on account of her heart condition, but she had ignored him, being the fitness fanatic that she is.

"And this scam," Morgan said. "You can't expect to get away with it forever."

"Oh, yeah," I said, half-turning as I trudged up to my house. "About that. I can't _believe_ that you guys just gave up before I even got there! What the hell were you thinking? The brother practically wanted to pound me!"

Morgan rolled her eyes.

"Well excuse us," she replied. "But even us spooks get muscle cramp sometimes."

I ignored her and climbed up the small hill that lead to my front door. I don't know why I use the front door; there is a huge, gaping hole round the back. But to enter that way means trudging through soil that is always the consitency of Ready-Brek. If you slide your foot into it, there is no guarantee that you will get it back...

"Don't get us wrong, hun, we appreciate you giving us a place to stay," Ralph said. "But this house is about ascosy as a hamster cage."

I just ignored him. Not a day went by when my ghostly companions didn't complain about our current living arrangement. I couldn't help it.

My house is only half-built. My boyfriend and I had begun construction three years ago, the summer after we graduated from high school. Construction was slow and a year later, it still wasn't complete. After that,things went downhill. My boyfriend and I broke up, then he died and I just didn't have the money to finish the house. He was rich, you see, and because he was so young he didn't have a will, so his parents were left in charge of everything. They put all of his money into his little brother's college fund.

My life pretty much ended then.

The damp floorboards creaked beneath my feet as I slowly walked to my bed. I didn't have the energy to deal with anything else tonight.

As usual, my bed was unmade.

"_He's_ not too happy about it, either," Ralph pointed out, obviously continuing our short-lived conversation from before. "Or this scam you've got going."

"This _scam_ is all that keeps me from starving," I told him. "And if you guys just did your job properly, I would be raking in a _lot_ more than I currently am."

I ducked behind the makeshift screem I had set up and changed into my night clothes.

"And by the way," I shouted as I wriggled into my boxer shorts. "That thing with the girl's forehead? That was just sick! Don't _ever_ do _anything_ like that again, or I'll exorcise your ass quicker than you can say 'unfair'."

"Girl, I don't know what you're yapping about," Morgan broke in. She raised one of her perfect brown eyebrows. That girl is great at playing dumb.

"Never mind," I sighed and flopped down onto my bed. It wasn't long before sleep took me.

* * *

The morning fog woke me as it seeped into my house through the many holes in the woodwork. I was used to it. 

"Morning, sleepy head," a voice said as a hand ruffled my bed hair. I raised one of my own hands to swat it away. I wasn't in the mood to deal with anyone right now.

"Come one," the voice persisted. "I made breakfast."

For the first time since I opened my eyes, a delicious aroma invaded my nostrils. Pancakes. My stomach rumbled in approval. He sure knows how to get a girl out of bed.

I pushed down my blanket and allowedghostly handsto help me stand up.First thing in the morning is the only time he can get away with touching me like this.

As I limped into the living area, the voice told me everything that it had heard on the radio that morning and informed me that the newspaper was on the kitchen table.

"Maple syrup?" He asked, holding out a plate of freshly made pancakes for me. I smiled in gratitude.

You know how I said that my boyfriend died two years ago? Well, he still hangs around. In this house, no less. It is extremely distracting, having a ghost with luscious dark brown hair, piercing blue eyes and a body to make even the most difficult girl surrender hanging around the place. Not that there was any chance of us getting it on again. I made the mistake of doing that once...when he first came back as a ghost. I know we broke up, but I was just so glad to see him again. And let me tell you that sleeping with a ghost? It is _really_ strange. For starters, they have unlimited stamina (which is _not_ a good thing, whatever anyone tells you) and then there's the fact that they are as cold as an English summer.

But that was the last time we had any 'relations'. Much to _his_ chagrin.

"Paul," I said sweetly. He could probably see what was coming, but he responded with a nod, anyway.

"Where were you last night?" I asked. "You weren't at the haunting."

Paul let out a small chuckle and rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Do you really want me to answer that?" He replied.

"Actually, I do," I snarled. "You know thatit is the onlysource of income I have. Plus, it's the only thing I am good at. Being dishonest, that is."

"I'm proud of you, Suzie, I really am," Paul told me, his words dripping with sarcasm. I just rolled my eyes. I know better that to let him get to me. I really should kick him out of the house, but my conscience won't let me. It's my fault he is the way he is...dead...bitter.

"I don't want you to be proud of me," I said. "_You_ taught me how to be dishonest and how to cheat and lie. None of this is my doing."

The corners of his mouth twitched a little, but he was trying to hide his obvious amusement. He pushed himself up from the chair he lounged in and began to walk towards me.

"Death is no was to make a living, Suzie," he pointed out. "This house was meant for _us_, not you...that dream died with me. Go an earn ourself an honest living. Get yourself a nice, clean apartment. You can't possibly enjoy living in this dump."

By now he was close enough to place a hand on my shoulder.

"Your concern is appreciated, Paul, but I don't have to listen to you anymore!" I jerked away from his hand and stomped over to my fridge. I tried slamming the kitchen door (which is basically the only door in the house) shut but he walked right through it.

"I may be dead, but I'm still your boyfriend and I still care about what happens to you," he half-laughed.

I could feel the anger building up inside me.

"God,would you just move on already?" I yelled. "And since it has obviously slipped your mind, I will take this opportunity to remind you that I _broke up with you_!And it is actually your inabilty to accept that I actually did dump you, the great Paul Slater, that got you killed."

I knew that this was completely untrue, and so did he. But still, he didn't have to laugh. He died two years ago of severe organ failure...and it was all my fault. If I had only appreciated him more, none of it would have happened. True, I did break up with him, but I was in love with him and I guess a part of me still is. The only thing is that the part of me that is irritated by his chauvanistic attitude is more powerful than that.

"I think it was your terrible driving skills that got me killed," he laughed. "But you keep telling yourself that if it makes you feel better."

I groaned in frustration. If it wasn't for my damn guilt, I would have exorcised him long ago. Plus, he is strong so he is a great help with the 'hauntings'.

I perched myself on one of the kitchen's many stools and picked up the morning's paper. I don't know why they deliver it to my house; it looks like an abandoned housing project. Still, it always helps to read the obituaries in my profession. There was nothing out of the ordinary today, just old folk who had passed away in their sleep. They always move on straight away, so there won't be any messages to pass on. Once I was done with the obituaries, I began to flick through the stories. One particular headline caught my eye.

**'Mysterious death count rises to 21'**

**N**o doubt it pertained to the mysterious ilnesses that currently swept this small town. A lot of people had been dropping dead over the past few years. Usually it was because of some sort of organ failure and some of the bodies even showed signs of extremely rare diseases that were though to have been eradicated. In a few cases, the cause of death could not be determined; the victims were perfectly healthy in every way. Nobody knew exactly why these seemingly perfectly healthy people were just dying without do much as a warning.

I sighed and dropped my eyes to read the article. Instead, my eyes landed on the picture accompanying the story.

"Hey!" I exlaimed, causing Paul to jump. "That's the asswipe that threw me out into the street yesterday!"

I felt movement as Paul crept up behind me and read the article overmy shoulder.

"The twenty-first victim of Carmel's recent string of unexplained illnesses was claimed last night." I read. "Twenty-year-old Marta de Silva passed away at approximately one-thirty am this morning. She was pronounced dead on arrival at Carmel General Hospital. Marta is the sister of dectective Jesse de Silva of the CBTSPD, who last year lost his partner under the same circumstances."

There was more, describing all of the past deaths, but I couldn't read anymore.

"I can't believe it!" I gasped. "I just talked to her last night!" I flung the paper aside and began to pace the kitchen floor.

"And her brother is a cop!" I groaned. "Great, now I'm gonna be hauled in for questioning. This is the _last_ thing I need. Does it say whn the funeral is?"

There was a moment's silence before Paul cleared his throat and replied.

"Tomorrow morning," he read. "You aren't seriously considering going, are you?"

I sighed again. I was. Because I had a feeling that young Marta's demise had something to do with that bloody number. There was only one way to find out whatit meant.

* * *

**AN - Please review if you have read this ... I really need to know what it is like :). You don't have to have seen The Frighteners to understand this fic. I'm only basing this loosely on the film, so ...**

**Disclaimer - Meg Cabot owns all things Mediator related and The Frighteners belongs to Peter Jackson (yes, _that _Peter Jackson) and Fran Walsh.**


	2. Don't Fear The Reaper

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_**Chapter One - **Don't Fear The Reaper_

_**"Can you at least give me a ride so I don't miss my funeral?" -** Ray Linski**, The Frighteners.**_

I know the graveyard well. Being in the death business, you usually spend a fair amount of time around them. Yet I still found myself in a state of unease whenever I was required to enter.

The de Silva funeral was no different. I have only attended two funeral in my life - my father's when I was six years old and Paul's when I was nineteen - so I do feel uneasy whenever a hearse passes me in the street. The hearse was empty by the time I pulled up to the graveyard. My intention was to sneak in towards the end, so as not to bother the grieving relatives.

Both of her sisters were there, as was her brother. I tried my best to avoid him. He would no doubt ridicule me infront of these people, and possibly even blame me for Marta's death. I know how mourning relatives can get.

On top of Marta's coffin lay a mass of flowers; you could barely see the coffin for them all. There was not a single dry eye in the crowd. Even the brother was crying. That sounds like a stupid thing to say, but he was pretty heinous last night. You don't expect a guy like that to have feelings. I should have learnt with Paul, really. He is on the asshole honours list, yet he still has feelings and they can still be hurt. My heart went out to Jesse, it really did. I know what it is like to lose someone close to you. I miss my father terribly. He still drops by from time to time, but it isn't the same.

I noticed Jesse's head raise slightly as I joined the throng. I hope that he did not notice me.

I listened intently as the priest finished his speech and the coffin was lowered into the ground. I casually threw the rose I had purchased from the nearby gas station into the hole as the crowd began to disperse. That was when I realised that someone stood infront of me.

I slowly raised my head and looked into the eyes of the priest. He sighed and shook his head.

"Here for business, I assume?" He asked. I smiled. He knew me all too well. The priest, you see, is a mediator just like me. That is, he communicates with the deceased.

"Hey, Father D.," I said. "And I'm not, actually. Here for business, I mean. I knew her. Well, as well as a girl can know someone in half an hour. How exactly did she die?"

"It's strange," he said, walking round the side of the hole and taking my arm to lead me out of the way of her family. "The doctors performed an immediate autopsy, with her death being so sudden. It appears that her body was ravaged by Ebola."

"Ebola?" I gasped. "But that's-"

Father Dominic held up a hand to silence me.

"They tested her immediate family, too," he continued. "And the results were negative. It would have taken days for the Ebola virus to kill her. And everyone who came in contact with her would have caught it, yet it destroyed her in a matter of seconds."

I looked him in the eye. He wouldn't lie. He is a priest, he doesn't believe in lying.

"I-I'll look into it," I said. Which wasn't exactly true. Where would I start? What would I look for?

Nevertheless, Father Dom smiled at me before walking away. I shook my head as I watched him fade into the distance and turned around to make my way back to the car when I collided with something tall and hard. A hand shot out to catch me as I fell backwards, which I was grateful for. I probably would have fallen into the grave had this stranger not caught me.

I laughed at my stupidity and looked up to thank my saviour.

It was Jesse, Marta's brother.

My mouth twisted into an 'O' shape and I prepared myself for a stern telling-off. To my surprise, however, he did not yell at me, nor did he look as though the thought had crossed his mind.

"Hey," he said, loking extremely uncomfortable. I didn't realise last night how handsome he was. His olive-coloured skin was flawless, save for a small scar that sliced through one of his thick, black eyebrows. His eyes were beautifully dark and framed by the longest lashes I have seen on a guy. His features were strong, and they were currently twisted into an expression of pain. I couldn't blame him; he had just lost his sister. I felt the sudden urge to place a hand on his cheek and assure him that it woud all work out fine. It always did...for everyone but me.

I haven't always been like this. I hate cheating people, I really do. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I found comfort in the knowledge that one day I would be able to give up my psychic investigator 'job'.

"I-I was wondering..." he started. "Why are you here? Do you-I thought you might have a message...from Marta?"

I could tell that he was holding back tears; his voice was all nasal. It brought tears to my own eyes.

"Why would you think that?" I asked. "I thought you didn't believe that kind of stuff...you did throw me out of your house."

He laughed sheepishly and brought a hand up to run his fingers through his crisp, thick-looking black hair.

"Yeah, sorry about that," he apologised. "I-I thought you were a fake. The whole haunting...it seemed orchestrated. I hate people treating my sisters like they are so gullible." I gulped. "Which they are, but that is beside the point.But when you said something about a number, you seemed so...genuine. I thought you were just acting until...until she died. It was so strange... I don't know who else to go to, so I'm asking you...what happened to her?"

I looked at him in a daze. He wanted me to tell him how his sister died?

"Um...she died from Ebola," I told him, but he just rolled his eyes.

"I know that's what the doctors say, but...Look, I know what Ebola is. If it was indeed Ebola that killed her, the whole family would be infected by now." He lifted a hand to wipe a tear from his eye. "I was with her when she died...she started tugging at her throat, her mouth was open. Then she started to choke. She collapsed and then started to have some sort of seizure. It lasted about two minutes before she finally died. Something had her by the throat; I_ saw_ the fingerprints on her neck! Help me find out what happened. Please."

I sighed and looked over my shoulder and around the now-empty graveyard.

"Did you come here in a funeral car?" I asked. He nodded in reply, his tears drying up as he realised that I was actually going to help him.

"Come on."

I grabbed his arm, trying not to notice the hard muscles I could feel hidden beneath the sleeve of his sports jacket. I led him over to my car, blushing at how run-down it looked. He froze when he saw it.

"Is _that_ your car?" He enquired. I gave a pathetic little laugh and proceeded to open the door.

"My Porsche is being fixed," I joked. I was surprised when he chuckled at my pathetic excuse for a joke. So he wasn't a rude jerk, after all. He must be a gentleman if he laughs at a girl's bad jokes. Paul always went to great lengths to tell me how much my jokes sucked, so appreciated the recognition, even if it was forced.

Jesse slid into the passenger seat as I started the engine. As usual, it took a few tries before it rumbled into life. Jesse didn't make any smart comments, the way that Ralph, Morgan and Paul are wont to do. I appreciated this, too. I felt so good about it, in fact, that I decided to crack another joke.

"It runs on porridge," I said, feeling myself blush as he laughed. It was endearing how much effort he put into how genuine his laughs sounded.

What did we discuss on our journey to nowhere in particular? Well, he wanted to know how I got my gift. That one was easy; I was born with it. Although I told him that sometimes a traumatic event can alter your perception and allow you to see the dead. I had never known anyone this has happened to, but Paul insisted that it was true. Paul taught me all I know about mediating.

I asked him all sorts of questions about his sister and what happened between the time I left and the time she died. According to him, nothing out of the ordinary happened in the hour leading up to her death. The only thing that I could think of was that number. That was when I realised something.

"Can I ask you a question?" I asked. Why do people ask stuff like that? Jesse turned to look at me and nodded.

"Why didn't you mention me to the cops?" It was really bugging me. "If you had told them that I was one of the last people to speak to her, they would have brought me in for questioning first thing this morning, so they obviously don't know. Besides, aren't you a cop? Isn't that like breaking some cop rule?"

He chuckled at my outburst.

"You seem to have the mistaken impression that I am a bad person," he said. "I didn't tell my colleagues about you, because I thought that if you were genuine then maybe you could help me find out why my sister died."

I smiled. Maybe first impressions weren't reliable.

"Oh, so it is '_why_' now, not '_how_'?" I asked. Alright, I was being a little bit fliratatious, but I was just glad that he wasn't the asshole he appeared to be. Or maybe he was and he was just a damn good actor. Only time would tell.

"You're running low on gas," he pointed out.

"Shit!" I swore, seeing the small hand on the dial pointing towards the red area. Luckily there was a gas station a mile down the road.

I pulled in to the station noisily as my car began to complain about the lack of gas (at least that's what I hoped it was...I couldn't afford to get it repaired. Jesse exited the car with me and looked at me with a strange expression on his face. I ignored him and filled up the tank, my heart sinking with every cent that was added to the price.

If I was really down on my luck, I would have normally took off without paying, like the inchester brothers in Supernatural. Unfortunately, no matter how broke I was, I wasn't about to steal petrol with Jesse standing there watching me. Even if he wasn't a cop. I am already ashamed of myself and aware that I am a no good cheater and thief, but I did not like other people knowing this. It is not the kind of life I would have chosen for myself, had I actually been given the choice.

"Do you...uh...do you want some money towards petrol?" Jesse asked. "I mean, since you are driving me around..."

He trailed off as I glared at him. If there is one thing I hate more than people actually discovering who I really am, it's charity. I promised myself at Paul's funeral that I would get out of my financial mess on my own. Call it pride if you wish, but I found charity an insult. Like people didn't believe that I was capable of taking care of myself.

"Never mind," he said. I sighed in an attempt to soothe the rage that had been building up inside of me.

I left him by the car as I went to pay for the gas. It wasn't as bad as it could have been, price-wise. I had enough to cover it, and to get some chocolate. So I paid the bearded cashier and shoved the chocolate into my back pocket.

As I was leaving, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window. And I was not impressed. The wind had made my hair all frizz out. Great.

"Um, do you have a bathroom?" I asked the attendant. He smiled and nodded.

"Round back."

I thanked him and rushed off before Jesse could see my terrible hair. Which was ridiculous, becuase it had probably been like that since I'd left the graveyard, but a girl has to look her best in the prescence of good-looking guys.

The bathroom was what you would expect for a gas station; graffitied walls, that pungent stench. I tried my best to ignore it as I made my way over to the mirrors to fix the hair mushroom on my head. There was one other woman in the bathroom, re-applying her make-up in the mirror. She smiled sweetly at me as I wrestled with the knots in my hair. Damn wind.

I looked at my reflection once I had finished and smiled at how presentable I looked. I then turned to the reflection of the other woman...and froze.

'32'

Oh, no.

The number was carved into her head, just like the number '31' was carved into Marta's. The blood trickled down onto her eyelashes as she applied liner to her eyes. When she caught me looking she froze.

"Yes?" She asked. I shook my head, unable to say anything and she turned back to the mirror.

If she noticed the dark shadow that flitted down the opposite wall, she did not mention it. The shadow returned only to dive into one of the cubicles. If I didn't know any better, I would have said that it was a cloaked figure.

I slowly walked up to the toilet cubicles and pushed open the doors one by one. The woman at the sinks began to frantically pack up her make-up. I guess my strange behaviour was freaking her out.

When I reached the last cubicle, I kicked the door open with enough force to break one of the hinges. But there was nothing inside.

I sighed and leaned back against the graffitied wall and turned towards the woman. And froze.

Alowly, the mirror began to move out towards her, twisting into the shape of a cloaked figure. Two brown...hands (though i use that word very loosely) shot through the mirror and pushed themself into the woman's chest. She jerked violently for a few seconds, her breaths becoming erratic before finally falling to the ground. The...thing...disappeared as quickly as it had shown up.

I didn't even bother to check the woman's pulse. Instead, I ran out of the bathroom and towards my car.

"Get in!" I screamed as I closed in on it. Jesse looked at me in confusion before sliding into the passenger seat. I dove into the car and took off, suddenly catching sight of a brown figure darting off into the distance.

I took after it, driving as fast as my car would go and ignoring Jesse's demands to slow down. The figure darted between houses, sometimes gliding along the rooftops, unaware that it was being chased.

However, I soon lost sight of it as it disappeared behind a row of houses.

I pulled the car to a stop and jumped out, my eyes frantically searching for it.

"Susannah!" Jesse yelled furiously as he scrambled out of the car. "What the hell do you think you were doing?"

I ignored him, which caused him to grab me by the shoulders and shake me quite violently.

"Hey!" He shouted. I guess I must have looked pretty shaken up because his expression softened when he saw my face.

"Call the cops," I told him. "There's a body in the gas station bathroom."

I turned away from him and fell down onto the grass, hugging my knees to my chest. I probably would have rocked backwards and forwards had I not worried about looking like the drunk house elf from Harry Potter and The Goblet of Fire.

I could sense Jesse behind me and he had not moved. He knew that there was something that I wasn't telling him, but he wouldn't believe me if I told him what it was.

After all...reapers aren't real.

_Aren't they?_

**AN - Thank you to all my readers and especially my reviewers. I know the title of this chapter is cheesy, but you know...And yes, I changed the name of the fic, and yes, I put the rating up. But I realised that there is no way I will be able to get away with a T for the ending I've got planned.**

**For those of you who haven't seen The Frighteners, I got the summary from Wikipedia for you...Although it doesn't really matter, because I am going in sort of a different direction with this fic.**

**For those who have, if you want to know which characters are which, the only ones who are based on characters from the films are Suze (Frank Bannister), Jesse (very loosely based on Lucy Linski), Ralph (Cyrus) and Morgan (Stuart). Paul is loosely based on Ray Linski...Now go review! Please :).**

**Peter Jackson's The Frighteners summary...**

_After a car accident in which his wife was killed and he was injured, Frank Bannister develops psychic abilities allowing him to see and hear ghosts. He has put these skills to use by befriending a few ghosts, and getting them to haunt houses in the area, to drum up work for his ghost busting business. He then proceeds to 'exorcise' the houses, for a fee. But then he discovers that a Grim Reaper-like entity is killing people one after another, marking numbers on their forehead beforehand. Because of the numbers, he can foretell the murders. This puts him under suspicion by the police. He tries to stop the murders, helped by a doctor and his three ghostly friends._


	3. Digging Up The Past

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_**Chapter Two - **Digging Up The Past_

_"That was the Soul Collector. He's been taking people out since time began. He's going about some dark business here in Fairwater...and we ain't nothing but worm bait! When your number's up...that's it!" **Cyrus/Stuart,** **The Frighteners**_

Who knew that service stations have CCTV? Well, it figures that they do, but who actually points the cameras at the rest room doors? Honestly...

Jesse didn't believe me until they found that woman's body. I was arrested immediately because the damn security camera outside the women's restroom showed me 'fleeing the scene'. Of course, I couldn't actually tell then _why_ I was running. How suspicious would that sound?

"_Oh, I just saw this reaper-like entity and freaked...wouldn't you_?"

I guess that I should be grateful that they haven't yet charged me with the murder. I am only a suspect. But by the extremely bored look on Officer Johnson's face, I could tell that it was only a matter of time.

"Miss Simon," he repeated. "This would be a lot easier if you would just answer the questions."

I sniggered. Like I was going to do that. I know my rights. Where is my lawyer?

I looked around the dingy interrogation room. You would think that this PD used to be an asylum. The interrogation room was decorated in different shades of green, and there were very suspicious-looking marks on the tiles in one corner. It was making me uncomfortable. The table we sat at was metal and took up most of the large room while the chairs were nailed to the floor. There was a one-way mirror on one wall, but it I could see the sheriff and the psychiatrist clearly, so it obviously wasn't doing its job.

On the table lay a cup of coffee and a glass for water (for me) along with a paper file in front of Officer Johnson. Yes, I have a police file. Dont get the wrong idea, I'm not some kind of hardened criminal. Most of the information in that file is from the accident two years ago. They insisted on dragging the investigaton out longer than was neccessary. It was an _accident_! There was absolutely no need for them to treat me like a suspect.

The only other person besides the officer and myself in the room was Jesse, who currently leaned against the cleanest part of wall in the room. He looked unimpressed with his colleague's interrogation techniques.

"I want a lawyer," I told Officer Johnson. "And I want to get out of here. So unless you are going to arrest me, I suggest that you let me go."

"Now, now Miss Simon," he replied, seeming amused for some reason. "This would all be so much easier if you answered the question."

I pursed my lips and closed my eyes. It's not easy thinking up a decent lie. Especially when you are convinced they are going to bring the polygraph out any minute.

"I ran from the bathroom," I said slowly, "because I saw a woman die. I was scared."

Officer Johnson sighed, which I found kind of offensive. I was proud of my answer. I wasn't even lying! What was the point in answering his questions if he came to the conclusion that every answer I provided was a lie?

"You fled the bathroom and..." he trailed off as he opened the file in front of him. "You then drove erratically as if you were chasing someone...or some_thing_. This does not sound like the behaviour of an innocent woman, Miss Simon."

I took this opportunity to glare at Jesse, whos statement had obviously implicated me. He threw me an apologetic look. I wasn't mad at him, really. He was only doing his job. But I was already pissed off by Officer Johnson's less-than-professional attitude.

"I was freaked out," I explained. "I know that traumatic experiences can cause a person to act strangely. I would call witnessing someone die pretty traumatic, wouldn't you?"

Jesse cleared his throat in an obvious attempt to disguise laughter. I take it that he does not like Officer Johnson either. Bonus.

"Do you know how the woman died?" the officer asked. I smiled at him. This was obviously another lame attempt to get me to confess to the murder. This guy just hasn't got a clue.

"No, I don't," I admitted, my smile staying put..

Officer Johnson pulled a few pieces of paper out of my file and I noticed one of them had a photograph of Paul - or rather his body - attatched to it. The others I recognised as my written statement for the accident and my mugshot on a sheet which contained my basic stats. Most of them were wrong, of course. I did not weigh one-hundred and ten pounds and I am five seven, _not _five four. Things like this really restore your faith in the law, don't they?

"She died of severe organ failure...her lungs to be exact."

I could feel the corners of my lips slowly curling downwards as my smile vanished. Officer Johnson obviously anticipated this because he raised his eyes from the paper to observe my reaction. He smiled when he saw my pained expression.

"She was a perfectly healthy thirty-year-old woman with no prior medical conditions," he told me, his thin lips twisting into a smile. "The autopsy, which was performed immediately, showed that her lungs had been put under a lot of pressure...as if they were crushed...does this sound familiar?"

I could not look him in the eye. Instead, I stared at the surface of the table, lost in thought. It wasn't possible! I was snapped from my reverie when he slid the photograph of Paul's body towards me, so that it stopped in my line of sight.

I would have burst into tears had Jesse not been standing there. Paul looked a wreck. The photograph had been taken when his body had been found, so half of his face was coated in blood and his clothes were ripped, showing where small shards of glass were embeded into his skin. His dark hair was tinted red with blood and his empty eyes stared skyward. I noticed the two vertical cuts on his forehead. I had always assumed that they were inflicted by the shards of glass that were sent flying into both of us as the windscreen shattered.

"Paul Slater," Officer Johnson said. "Your boyfriend...or should I say _ex_-boyfriend?" He smiled at his own joke. It made me sick. I wanted to reach across the table and wrap my hands around his thick neck and squeeze until he passed out.

"Three years ago, you both graduated from high school and decided to build your own house," he read. "You hired construction workers to build the house that you designed together. The construction firm you hired the workers from belonged to your step-father, Andrew Ackerman, did it not?"

I nodded slowly. I did not know where he was going with this, and I did not particularly want to find out.

"It is reported that you argued with Mr. Slater a year later when the construction was not yet complete," he continued. "According to one of the workers, you blamed him for the slow work because he had fired several construction workers. He promised you that the house would be complete by your second year at college. The argument escalated and at approximately twelve pm on August seventh_ two years ago_, your argument wil Mr. Slater turned violent. He pushed you into a wall and you retaliated by slapping him. The argument continued to the car which you were to use to drive to lunch. That was the last time Paul Slater was seen alive. The argument continued in the car and at approximately twelve seventeen pm you were seen turning into Oak Road, which is notorious for its twists and turns. You lost control of the car and veered off the road, crashing some fifteen feet below into the trees. You were found two hours later, wandering along the side of the road, bloody and bruised with apparantly no recollection of the accident. Mr. Slater's body was found twenty feet from the car, his eyes wide open, staring at something above him...An autopsy proved that he died _after_ the accident, of severe organ failure..._his lungs were crushed_. And the strangest thing was the two vertical cuts on his forehead. They were not from the accident; they were made after he died. Upon further inspection, it was determined that the cuts were, in fact, a number...the number 'eleven'. after his death, your life went downhill. You left college, lost your apartment and all of Paul's money was given to his little brother. You were forced to move into your incomplete house and you started up your Psychic Investigator business which many believe to be a scam."

I was shaken up. I already know what had happened to Paul, I did not need some doughnut-munching cop to remind me. I tried to fight back the tears, but they flowed freely down my cheeks.

"If you are talking about the article in the Times," I sobbed, trying to steer the subject away from my deceased ex-boyfriend. "Kelly Prescott has always hated me. Don't believe anything she writes."

Officer Johnson showed me no pity. In fact, he seemed glad to see my tears. This only incensed me further.

I looked behind him when I heard a noise behind the one-way mirror and I saw the silhouettes of both the sherrif and the psychiatrist leave the observation room.

Officer Johnson, unfortunately, also noticed this.

"Many people believe that you murdered Paul Slater," he pointed out. "And the similarities between his death and many others have not passed unnoticed. And now that you have been seen fleeing the scene of one of these deaths, people are suspicious. Four people have died of lung failure in the past two years and nine more have died of heart failure. All of these victims have had their organs crushed. Along with the nine people who have died instantly from diseases which take days, sometimes even weeks, to kill...there are a lot of unexplained deaths that began with your boyfriend's _murder _two years ago!"

A huge, gut-wrenching sob was ripped from me by this last sentence. My head flew forward into my hands and my shoulders began to shake from the strength of my sobs. I hate him! Hate him! How dare he accuse me of murdering Paul! How dare he bring this all up again when I had only just managed to get over it all!

"That is enough!" I heard Jesse yell. "You are out of order, Johnson!"

I heard him move and I flinched as I felt a hand slide under my arm and pull me gently to my feet.

"I think you have tortured her enough," he spat. The venom in his voice shocked me. I actually felt a few of my tears dry up. Nobody has ever been this protective over me...not even Paul.

Jesse's arm came around my shoulders and he muttered something in Spanish as he lead me out of the interrogation room. I made a mental note to look up what _'hijo de puta'_ means.

"Are you alright?" he asked me as we passed reception, grabbing a couple of tissues as we passed.

I nodded feebly as he pressed the tissues into my hands. The devastation began to fade and the embarassment set in, turning my cheeks a very interesting shade of red.

"I'm sorry," I told him, though I didn't know what I was apologising for. "I'm not usually like this."

I dabbed at the corners of my eyes with the rough tissue, turning my head away from Jesse. I don't care if our relationship is strictly professional, you still don't cry in front of totally hot guys. Which, sadly, I was beginning to realise that Jesse was. A totally hot guy, that is. Nobody has eyes like that and isn't considered hot. And I knew for a fact that beneath that white shirt and black sports coat lay a body that even Paul, in all his Greek God glory, would envy. On top of all that, despite the less-than perfect first impression that he gave, he seemed to be a decent guy.

It's a shame that I am such a freak. We would make such a cute couple. Not. He was a cop, obviously cared about others and lived in a house where air conditioning did not mean removing the tarpaulin from where it covered the three-foot hole in the wall. Guys like that don't go for girls who have to scam innocent people in order to put food on their table and they _definitely_ don't go for girls who are constantly hounded by the dead. Nope...girls like me are destined to be alone.

On top of all that...I am a murderer. Alright, so I didn't kill Paul per se, but I played a pretty big part in his death. I accused him of not wanting to finish the house. I accused him of not being commited to our relationship. Then I broke up with him. Oh, not because of the fight...things hadn't been right between us for a while. He jumped into my car and begged me to stay. This just made me more angry. Blinded by my anger, I was unable to see the twist in the road. The last thing I remember before waking up next to the car was pain as the windscreen shattered and the airbag inflated, slamming my head against the car seat and knocking me out. The next thing I remember is being forced into the back of an ambulance about a mile away from the crash site. Even Paul does not remember the accident.

It is my fault that he was in that car. If I had not yelled at him like that, if I only had the decency to break up with him when I was calm and rational then he would still be here...in the flesh, anyway. I may not have caused his lungs to fail, but I put him in a position where they did. I am scum.

"Everyone needs to let go sometimes," Jesse assured me, squeezing my shoulder in a gentle, reassuring manner. "Johnson is an asshole. He had no right to accuse you of..." He trailed off, realising that the subject was a bit sensitive for me.

"I'll drive you home," he offered. I thanked him, grateful for all his help. He really didn't have to do all this. Once again, I scolded myself for thinking he was an asswipe the first time we met.

I slid wordlessly into my passenger seat after handing Jesse my car keys. I must admit that he did a good job of driving my wreck of a car; sometimes I think it has a life of its own.

"Turn left here," I instructed, pointing to a roundabout ahead of us. "Then straight on and right at the next intersection."

Wordlessly, he followed my instructions, not once taking his eyes off the road. It would have been nice to get _some_ recognition. You know, the occasional glance in my direction to make sure that I was alright.

"I..." He said eventually, his voice low and unsure. "I didn't know that you lost someone."

I smiled, glad that he was now talking. I pointed him towards the hills where my house stood before replying.

"Everyone has lost someone," I told him. "I lost my father when I was six, my boyfriend when I was nineteen. What makes me different from anyone else? _You _lost your sister."

"It's not the same," he sighed, turning to glance at me. His dark eyes were filled with sorrow. "I loved Marta, but she was my sister. Paul was your boyfriend...that is a different kind of grief."

I smiled. The grief would have been nowhere near as bad if it wasn't for the cops, hauling me in for questioning and rubbing salt in my wounds. I didn't voice my feelings. Jesse may be a decent guy, but he is also a cop.

"It's not like I don't see him anymore," I pointed out. "Besides, I don't remember anything about the accident. I occasionally have flashbacks in my sleep, but nothing coherent."

The rest of the journey continued in silence which was only broken when I was asked for directions. The condition of my house did not hit me until we were driving up the hill towards it.

"Shit," I whispered. "Um...Jesse? You can just drop me off here..."

He then started to laugh like it was the most hyterical thing he had ever heard.

"This is your car," he pointed out. "You will have to drive it to your house, anyway."

I involuntarily sank down in my seat as my house came into view. Thank God it looked normal from the angle we were looking at it from. If he noticed how incomplete the construction was, he did not say anything. He pulled the car up next to the garden, a square of grass with a few flowers dotted around the outside.

I practically dove out of the car in a rush to order Jesse a cab, but I obviously did not move fast enough. I had barely picked myself up from the gravel path when he swore in Spanish.

"_Nombre de Dios_, do you live there?" He asked, completely astonished. It was kind of rude, and he obviously realised a moment later when he began to apologise.

"I am sorry," he said, running a hand through his hair in a nervous manner. "It's just...incomplete."

I pursed my lips and began to walk briskly towards my front door, not once looking back. It must have taken him a while to realise that he had pissed me off because he did not come after me right away. By the time he had caught up to me, my eyes were damp with tears. What was it with the waterworks today? Seroiusly, it was like someone had pulled my emotional plug and everything was pouring out. It's a wonder Jesse doesn't think that I am unstable. Or maybe he does and he is just to polite to say it.

"Susannah, I'm sorry," he apologised as I forced my way through the front door. "I didn't mean to upset you."

I glanced around the first floor (the walls that seperated the rooms were barely there) quickly and relief washed over me when I noticed the absence of my ghostly buddies.

"I'm sorry that my house is not perfect," I spat, turning to the live man behind me. "I am sorry that I can't afford central heating or...or cable and I can't apologise enough for the terrible decor. But not all of us are well-off, Mr. de Silva."

I flung my coat onto my bed which, thank God, someone had made whilst I was out. In fact, it seemed as though someone had tidied my whole house. No doubt it was Morgan. She was a bit of a cleanliness-freak.

I lowered myself onto the edge of my bed as Jesse observed the interior of my house. There were three floors, but the second floor was only half-built, with gaping holes in the floor and the third-floor consisted of a floor-less attic.

"I'm sorry," he apologised again, setting himself down next to me. "Johnson said you lost everything after the accident, but I never thought that he meant...well, _everything_."

I sniffled quietly. Of course I had lost _everything_. Why did he think that I had resorted to scamming people for a living? Of course, he did not know about my scam...but it was only a matter of time until he found out. And I highly doubted that he would want to be assoiciated with me after that.

"He never had a will...when he died," I mumbled incoherently. "So I lost our apartment, all of our money...I was forced to quit college because I didn't have enough money to pay for my tuition."

Jesse said something in Spanish and wrapped an arm around me, pulling me towards him. His embrace was comforting, but I felt slightly uneasy. Part of me wanted to shove him away, but another part of me never wanted him to let go. Oh, not because I was in love with him or anything...God, no. It was the way that he banished all of my negativity just by holding me. It has been such a long time since anyone held me. I never realised how much I had missed it.

"Susannah, you can't live here," he sighed. "It is too dangerous...anyone could get in."

I sniggered. Yes, anyone could get in, but they wouldn't get far. My three ghostly security guards would make sure of that.

It's strange how just at that moment, one of my security guards appeared. One who just so happened to be my ex-boyfriend.

"Alright...who the hell is he?" Paul demanded, thrusting a finger in Jesse's direction. "And what is he doing here?"

I ignored him, of course. He was just pissed because I was allowing this complete stranger to put his arm around me whereas I always slapped his away whenever he got too close.

"I've survived for two years like this," I told Jesse, finally pushing his arm away and standing up. Paul tried to help me, but I stumbled a little when his hands gripped my waist a little bit too low for my liking. The bad thing was that asI pushed him away, he dragged his eyes up to meet mine...and saw my tears.

"What the hell has he been saying to you?" He demanded as Jesse pulled himself to his feet and asked if he could use my phone to call himself a cab.

"Sure," I answered Jesse, once again ignoring Paul. "It's just through there." I pointed to the kitchen, which was visible through the incomplete wall of my bedroom.

"Son of a bitch!" Paul said, taking a swing at Jesse as he passed. Of course with Jesse not being a mediator, Paul's fist simply passed through Jesse's head unnoticed.

I turned to him once Jesse was clear of the room and glared at him furiously.

"What the hell do you think you are playing at?" I demanded, grabbing his arm to prevent him going after my guest. I guess the whole intimidation approach I was going far was somewhat destroyed by the fact that I was still crying.

"Suze, the guy made you cry!" He yelled. "And what the hell is he doing here? He's the detective from that article, isn't he? I thought he threw you out last night?"

I sighed. Explaining things to Paul is like banging your head against a brick wall. He only hears what he wants to hear.

"Paul, can you please leave?" I asked, as politely as I could. "Just until he is gone. We can talk later."

He wasn't happy about it.

"Suze, I'm not-" He started, but I placed a hand over his mouth to shut him up. This is the only way of silencing Paul Slater...except flashing him, but what do you take me for?

"Just go," I hissed. He reluctantly obeyed me and vanished just as Jesse walked through him.

"Do you have a travel bag or a suitcase?" Jesse asked, digging his hands into his pockets. This is a nervous habit, I know because my step-brother, Jake, does the same thing when he is nervous.

"Um...yeah," I answered, dabbing away the last of my tears. "Why?"

Jesse opened my wardrobe and found my bag on the top shelf. He then threw it onto the bed and looked up at me.

"You're coming home with me," he explained. My jaw dropped at this announcement.

"Oh, really?" I laughed. Like hell was I staying in the same house as him. Who knows...he could be some kind of pervert.

"Yes," he replied, grabbing some clothes and shoving them into the bag. "If what you said is true, then I am not letting you stay on your own. Especially not in a place like this. I am staying with my sisters while my parents are on vacation, so you won't be alone with me if that is what you are worrying about."

He smiled an all-knowing smile. He was good. And also, I realised, being flirtatious.

I don't know if it was the fact that his sisters would also be there or the fact that he was acting all protective over me again, but I agreed and allowed him to help me pack my bag.

I don't know what exactly was going on. In the space of twenty-four hours, the universe as I knew it had been blown apart and reconstructed using the wrong pieces. I had witnessed a woman die at the hands of a reaper, I was blamed for Paul's murder yet again and a completely hot guy just..._flirted_ with me! Usually the only guys that flirt with me are the drunken ones who think grabbing your ass is romantic.

But one thing I was sure of...things couldn't possibly get stranger...

**AN - Review please!**

**And thank you to all of my reviewers...I almost put this on hiatus until I got my last review, heh. Juggling three fics is harder than I thought :S.**


	4. Seeing Double

**_No Rest For The Wicked_**

_**Chapter Three - **Seeing Double_

_"There has been a destructive force unleashed on this town...such as I have never seen." **Milton**_ _**Dammers, The Frighteners**_

_I was running, stumbling...falling. Every step I took seemed more unsteady than the last. But no matter how unbearable the pain in my ankles became, I had to keep running._

_I could hear it behind me, laughing hysterically._

_Eventually, my legs buckled and my body slammed into the hard concrete. I felt the collison through my whole body and I am sure that I **heard** my ribs breaking. Unable to pull myself to my feet, I slithered along the ground, reching out for something to help me pull myself along. Of course, crawling just caused it to catch up with me. I felt its icy cold hand on my shoulder and my body twitched violently as fear seized me. I wanted to vomit, but no matter how much I retched, nothing came up. Then I caught a glimpse of myself in the metallic wall infront of me._

_Just like the others, a number was carved into my forehead. Due to the uneven surface of the wall, I was unable to make out just what number it was. It didn't matter, though...I would die anyway._

_I felt the hand plunge into my back and icy fingers wrapped around my heart. My veins seared with white-hot pain as the hand squeezed, crushing the life out of me. I gasped for breath, but it did not matter...my lungs could not send the air anywhere. I could feel my heart desperately trying to pump the blood to my body, but the hand that grasped the large muscle prevented it from contracting._

_I could not shout for help, nor could I cry out in pain. My body shuddered one last time before my head dropped to the ground. As I drew my last breath, I could feel the hands flip me over and grip my shoulders, shaking me hard. I could also hear voices shouting my name._

_"Miss Simon!"_

_"Susannah!"_

"Miss Simon!"

"Susannah, wake up!"

I opened my eyes so suddenly that that blinding white light hurt my eyes. I lifted a hand to shield them.

"Oh, _gracias Dios_," a voice gasped, full of relief. I removed my hand from my eyes so that I was able to see.

Two heads hovered above my own and they were both tanned and strangely familiar.

"Jesse?" I muttered, still recovering from being woken up. Then I remembered; he had dragged me back to his parents' house after the disastrous police interview.

"You were having a nightmare," he told me. "You were screaming and it looked as though you were having some sort of seizure. I was starting to worry...it took me five minutes to wake you up."

"Shit," I swore, pushing his hands away from where they gripped my shoulders. I pushed myself into a sitting posistion so that I was not staring at the celing light.

When I could finally open my eyes without the de Silva's daylight bulb scorching my irises, I noticed Jesse sitting on the bed beside me, looking at me with relief evident in his expression. But I found it hard to concentrate on his face. It turns out that Jesse de Silva sleeps topless, and in his rush to check if I was ok he had not had time to slip into a t-shirt. Which I was thankful for, because covering up that...perfection would be a crime. Or at least it _should_ be. Yes, it also turns out that underneath his clothes, Jesse de Silva is a Greek _god_. He certainly had no desk job to get a body like that, he must have to wrestle with hardened criminals every day. Either that or he takes great advantage of the PD's discount at the local gym. Personally, I prefer the former...it seems more...heroic. The evidence of his active lifestyle was covered by a light dusting of silky black hair; not too much but not too little...just the right amount.

I eventually managed to drag my eyes up to meet his own.

"Are you alright?" He asked. "Do you need anything?"

I shook my head, pinching the bridge of my nose as I scrunched my eyes up. I then lamely waved a hand in the air as if I was swatting away a pesky fly.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Now can the two of you please get out of here so I can get back to sleep?" _Or at least put a shirt on so that I am not distracted..._

I was surprised when Jesse turned his head to look around the room then looked at me once again, completely confused. That was when I actually took notice of the second person. How did I not notice that they were glowing?

"I knew you were real!" Marta exclaimed, all but bouncing up and down on the bed.

"Oh, no," I groaned.

I was really tired and a little bit freaked out by my nightmare, so that's probably why I did what I did next. Which was slide further down the bed and pull the covers over my head.

"Go away!" I shouted. "I'm over the helping ghosts thing."

"_Nombre de Dios_!" Jesse exclaimed. I felt him change his position on the bed. "Marta is here, isn't she?"

I opened my eyes. Why did he suddenly jump to that conclusion? It could have been any ghost.

I threw the covers back and bolted upright, suddenly no longer tired.

"How do you know?" I demanded. "How do you know it's your sister?"

He looked nervous for a moment or two before looking in his sister's general direction and sighing.

"This was Marta's bedroom," he admitted, looking sheepish. "This is the room she died in."

Ok, rewind . . . _What? _I guess that the first part made sense...it explained the posters on the wall (what girl doesn't like to gaze at Wentworth Miller before she drifts off to sleep?) and Jesse doesn't live here so it made sense that he was occupying the guest room. I just could not believe that he let me sleep in a room where someone had died, especially after I had explained my gift to him. Unless...

I pulled my hand back and slapped him right across the face. He seemed taken aback, but in my opinion he should have expected it.

I jumped down off the bed, not caring that all I wore were boxer shorts and a cami, and leapt towards my suitcase, shoving the stuff that had spilled onto the floor back in the case.

"I don't believe it!" I shouted, unable to look at him. I heard the bed groan as he stood up and his footsteps as he walked over to me were strangely loud. "You brought me here so that I could see her!"

I picked up my suitcase and carried it over to the bed, moving as he held out a hand to grab my arm.

"Susannah, I swear that isn't true!" he insisted. Whatever.

I opened my suitcase once more and began to search for some clothes.

"What are you doing?" he asked as I pulled out some deoderant and placed it on the bedside table.

"I'm going home!" I yelled, throwing him a pretty hostile look. "I honestly can't believe that I thought you were doing this to 'protect' me!"

"Susannah, I am!" he shouted back, though he was only standing a foot away from me...and he was still shirtless, which was a bad thing. Abs like his were just begging for forgiveness. "It honestly never crossed my mind that Marta would still be here."

Again..._whatever_.

"I'm going home," I repeated. "I really don't get you...one minute you are the nicest guy in the world and the next, you are a complete asshole! Do you have a split personality or something?"

This time Jesse did touch me...he came up behnd me and wrapped his hands around my upper arms. I froze, part of me wanting to bring my leg up so that it hit him on the mommy-daddy button and another part of me wanted to lean back into him. I have been single for _way_ too long.

I was snapped out of my reverie by an exasperated shout of "I'm still here, you know!" from the late Marta.

"If it bothers you so much, then we can swap rooms," Jesse purred (although I am sure his purring was unintentional...or a very effective attempt at calming me down).

"That's not the point!" I sighed, suddenly realising how stupid my argument had been. Suddenly I wished that the reaper thing would come and claim me...anything to stop me feeling so embarassed.

"Susannah?" he said when I did not reply. I shook my head to break free from my thoughts and pushed his hands away. They had a peculiar effect on me...they seemed to weaken my resolve.

"I'm sorry," I apologised. "I get really paranoid sometimes. And um...sorry about the..." I trailed off and waved a finger around my face. He laughed and looked at the carpet.

"It's alright,_ querida_, though you do put a lot of force behind your slaps," he laughed. _Querida_? What was that?

I may not have known what it meant, but Marta sure did. Especially since she suddeny started smile and giggle out of control.

"Oh, my God!" She cried, almost doubling over with laughter. "You called her_ 'querida'_! Oh, Hector, that is priceless. You truly are _el dumbass más grande en el mundo!_"

I blinked in confusion.

"Um...what does _el dumbass mass grand-ay en el moon-doh _mean?" I asked, my pronunciation all wrong. I wish that I had a camera. His expression was priceless.

"Did she...did she say that?" he asked, half amused, half pissed off. When I nodded, he shook his head and shouted a few Spanish curses which just caused Marta to start laughing again.

I don't know why, but I enjoyed seeing Jesse look uncomfortable...maybe it's because most of the guys I have known have treated me like shit and now I actually _had_ some power over a guy. So, in my meglomanical state of mind, I decided to say something that I was _sure_ would make him squirm.

"_Hector?_"

Well, you would be uncomfortable if _your_ name was Hector, wouldn't you? No offence to all of the Hectors out there, but it did not suit Jesse with his twenty-four years (his parents have his birthday marked onto their calender...) and washboard abs. The only young-ish 'Hector' I know is that dude in Prison Break. Who is totally heinous, by the way. Jesse was more like Sucre...on his good days.

Jesse grimaced when I spoke his real name.

"My father is old fashioned," he explained. "Now, are you alright to sleep now?"

I laughed at his change of subject. I know how he feels, having an old-fashioned name myself. Maybe I should make a deal with him...I will call him 'Jesse' if he calls me 'Suze'...or '_querida_'...I don't know what it means but it sounded nice when he said it. It made me feel like giggling like a little schoolgirl.

"Yeah, I'm good," I replied, smiling. When he left, I shoved my suitcase onto the floor before climbing back into bed and turning to Marta.

"What's the deal?" I asked her, pulling my knees up to my chest. "You want me to tell your family something?"

Marta walked over to the bed and sat down on the bottom of it.

"No. I just want to know how I died," she said. "It was really strange. I was arguing with Jesse when I suddenly felt a hand around my throat. It didn't make much sense because I couldn't see anything in front of me, but I could feel this hand gripping my neck. Then, I felt something seeping into my mouth. You know, like someone breathing into me. I guess that I must have passed out, because I can't remember much after that. All I remember is waking up and Jesse was crying, which he never does. I-I just need to know what happened to me...and Jesse does too. He blames himself, you know. He thinks that he caused my death."

I gazed at her intently when she finished speaking. It made a lot of sense. Jesse's sudden change of attitude, his mysteriousness...all of it was due to the fact that he thinks he is responsible for his sister's death. He was so protective over his sisters the first time we met, and that is why he was so hostile towards me. At least the fact that he came to me showed that he was getting better; he was determined to find the true cause of her death so that he did not have to blame himself anymore. I know...I have been through the same thing myself.

Now, it seems as though Paul was killed by the reaper I saw. But why? I saw no number on his forehead. The '11' was carved into his skin_ after_ he had been killed.

There was one more thing...the reaper works in more than one way. Some victims he kills by crushing their vital organs and others he kills by infecting them with deadly diseases.

What does it want? Why is it here, in Carmel?

Whatever was happening, I seemed to be caught up in it.

-+-

"Um...all we have is cereal," Jesse's sixteen-year-old sister, Mercedes, told me, handing me a bowl. "Marta was always the one who did the shopping."

I assured her that cereal was fine before setting my bowl down on the kitchen table and starting to eat. I had dressed before I came downstairs, so I need not have worried about Jesse seeing me in my ex-boyfriend's boxer shorts and my father's old jogging t-shirt. Which was kind of ridiculous, because he saw me like that last night.

Jesse appeared a minute or so after I had shoved my empty bowl into the cram-packed dishwasher. I was surprised by the way he was dresed, then I remembered that he was a cop. He wore plain blue jeans and a white shirt, covered by a black jacket with the local police department's logo sewn onto the sleeve and breast. He shoved something into the inside of his jacket, but I did not see what it was. When I caught a glimpse of a brown strap across his shoulder, I didn't _want_ to know what it was. I don't really like guns, I never have.

"We have to go," he told me, pulling some car keys off a hook on the wall. "There has been another death."

I almost jammed my finger in the dishwasher door as I closed it. _Another_ death?

I grabbed my bag from the table and rushed after Jesse, who was already half way to his car.

Apparantly the body had been found in an apartment on the outskirts of town. He appeared to have been killed by smallpox.

"The death was last night," Jesse explained. "The CDC were contacted immediately and the apartment appears to be uncomtaminated. A post-mortem was carried out as soon as the body was found, and it appears that he died within seconds. He died the same way that Marta did, only from a different disease."

I remained quiet for the rest of the journey. This was all happening too fast. Three deaths in as many days? That makes, what, thirty-three unexplained deaths? I have completely exhausted my shallow well of knowledge, trying to find a connection between the victims. It appears that the reaper is simply choosing people at random. The only way of determining who is next is by the numbers that appear on their foreheads right before they die.

And it all started with Paul.

Why him? Why did he die while I survived?

Jesse pulled into a street which was crawling with reporters and Scene of Crime Officers. When he pulled the car over, Jesse grabbed my hand to lead me into a house which had been cordoned off with police tape. Another officer stopped us momentarily until Jesse flashed his badge and we were allowed to cross the tape.

The house was a mess. The forensic team were still at work, so fingerprints were visible all over the walls and there was a nice dried-up pile of sick next to the bed, where the victim had obviously been found. Jesse took me around to the other side of the bed, so that I couldn't see it and began to speak to one of the offices in charge.

"There are no signs of forced entry," the officer explained, "nor of a struggle. The doors and windows were all locked from the inside. This is not the first case like this. It may be terroristic action, an attempt to scare us with a possible outbreak of various deadly diseases."

I rolled my eyes.

"If these deaths were terroristic actions, then all of the people in the vicinity should have been affected, true?" I asked. The stunned officer nodded. "I believe that Officer de Silva here was only a foot or so away from his sister when she died, apparantly from Ebola, a few days ago and his blood results came back clean. I think that blaming these deaths on biological warefare is absurd."

The officer continued to stare at me like I was crazy. He was middle-aged and had a greying, busy moustache. He obviously had a lot of expeience in this field, yet he was being corrected by a girl who has only been able to drink legally for three months.

"And who are you?" he asked, rather rudely. Jesse threw me a panicked look, which basically told me that he wasn't supposed to bring civilians onto a crime scene.

"Oh, me?" I asked, laughing humourlessly while I tried to think of an excuse. "Um...Suze Simon, forensic psychologist."

I shoved my hand out, inviting him to shake it. I was only half-lying. I studied psychology at college for one year, with the intention of branching out into forensic psychology. Paul was taking a law degree, so I chose a career path to compliment his.

"Oh!" the officer exclaimed, seming thrilled for some reason. "We have been considering talking to a criminal profiler for a while now, but the sherrif has not liked the idea of handing control over to the FBI. I know that he contacted the FBI about a cult specialist, but I had no idea that he enquired about profiling."

I swallowed hard. Why did I open my big mouth? I could have said that I was the guy's house cleaner.

"Actually, she is a friend," Jesse informed him, running a hand nervously through his thick black hair. "I asked for her non-professional opinion."

I nodded at the officer before making my way around to the vomit-stained carpet. I wrinkled my nose from the smell and began to check the wall. Usually when ghosts manipulate the environment, some sort of physical evidence is left. This is often traces of ectoplasm (which, by the way, _does_ exist).

I ran a finger along a slight tear in the wallpaper. It was roughly the size and shape of the hand of an adult male, no doubt the reaper.

When I turned back to Jesse, he looked at me expectantly and I nodded to signal that it was another reaper attack.

I don't know what made me look out of the window, but I did. My eyes sort of drifted over to the view of the hillside of their own accord. I was half expecting the reaper to be hanging around, but nothing could have prepared me for the sight that met my eyes.

A figure stood on the hillside. It looked like a frail man, though its skin was pulled tight against its bone and was a bluish-grey colour. Its face looked inhuman...dead. It seemed as though something was moving around it, but when I looked closer, it appeared to be flies. It wore a cloak, though it fell off the body in certain places, revealing decaying flesh. When its mouth opened, a thin line of something black trickled down its cheek.

I recognised it instantly. Its attire was not subtle, nor were the means of its executions. It killed people using deadly diseases. This was pestilence. And what's more... It was not the reaper I had seen in the bathroom. Which could only mean one thing...

_There were two._

**AN - Phew, it took me so long to get that out. Yeah, I kind of put this on hiatus, but I started to write for it again, so...**

**New characters coming soon...in fact, one of them was mentioned in this chapter :)**

**Thank you to my reviewers...I love you guys :).**

**Please review so that I know what I'm doing right.where I'm going wrong.**

**Disclaimer - The Mediator beongs to Meg Cabot and The Frighteners belongs to Peter Jackson and Fran Walsh. I am not any of these people...I am just a poor, bored teenager with a computer and internet access, heh...**


	5. The NewmanHolloway Massacre

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_"Frightening...that's a young man's game, Frank. I ain't got no more hauntings left in me."** - Judge, The Frighteners**_

Jesse did not take the news very well. Oh, he was pleased now that I had identified his sister's killer, but the fact that there are two reapers on the loose? Yeah, he didn't take that too well.

_'All our times have come...'_

Classic Rock 72 sucks. Don't get me wrong, I love a bit of Blue Oyster Cult as much as the next girl, but they play the most inappropriate songs. Like when I was driving home from Paul's funeral, they played Metallica's Fade To Black. I _so_ didn't feel like ending it all after that.

_'Here, but now theyr'e gone'_

I absent-mindedly drummed my fingers on the inside of the door as Jesse drove, completely oblivious to the song. I would have sang along, had the song not been too ironic. 'Don't fear the reaper?' Of _course_ you should fear the reaper; he has a big pointy stick that is capable of ripping your soul from your body.

_'Seasons don't fear the reaper, nor do the wind, the sun or the rain.'_

There must be a reason why the reapers chose this town to appear. Chances are that they have some sort of connection to the town...perhaps they were summoned? Paul once taught me about reapers. I only wished that I had paid more attention to him.

_'We can be like they are...Come on baby, don't fear the reaper.'_

I slammed my hand against the radio in frustration, not sure which was the power button. Jesse's car is far more...modern than mine. Mine takes cassettes and the little knob thing on the radio dial has dropped off. Jesse's radio doesn't have a little knob thing...it's digital.

He eyed me suspiciously when I attacked his radio, but chose to ignore it and continue driving. Which I was thankful for, being so lost in thought. I was trying so hard to remember what Paul had taught me all those years ago...

_"The four horsemen of the apocalypse," Paul said, pushing a large, leather-cound book toward me. "It is said that at the end of the world, they will ride out. Many people take this to be a metaphor, that the end of the world will come when the planet is stricken with death, war, famine and pestilence. But we know better. They are real, though I doubt that they will ride out when the world ends. They are the regulators of the world. Death collects the souls of the deceased, either at the moment of death or from the Shadowland, if the person had unfinished business. War creates power-struggles and helps to regulate the balance of power in the world. Famine causes famine, obviously, and regulates the deaths caused by droughts and other natural inconveniences. Pestilence unleashes sickness occasionally, in order to maintain a balance of health and sickness. Death rules over the horsemen, and they each have their own representation. Occasionally, one of these horsemen gets out of line and disaters occur. The bubonic plague, for example, is a perfect example of Pestilence gone haywire. The two world wars were when War became power hungry. Famine went on the rampage a few times in history, but has been fairly placid for the past few hundred years. It is Death who controls these horsemen, and keeps them in line. These horsemen are known as reapers, as they have the power to give and to take life. Death collects souls, and there are lesser reapers that he creates to assist him. These lesser reapers have been known to claim the souls of the living as well as the dead."_

_"So reapers can kill?" I asked, trying hard to keep the scepticism from my voice. Paul just raised an eyebrow at me._

_"They seperate the soul from the body, so yes, they do kill you," he replied, turning one of the aging pages. "Without the soul, the body has no reason to function. The soul is the body's will to live. Without it, the body has no reason to maintain its functionality."_

_"Alright, Slater, don't get all technical with me," I joked, leaning into him. He smiled down at me and pressed his lips against my scalp. "Tell me more about these reapers. What do they look like?"_

_"Well, that all depends on where they appear," he answered, pulling another book from his cardboard box and dropping it on the bed between us. I coughed as dust rose up from it with the impact of the fall._

_He opened the book and flicked through it, pausing to point to a faded picture. It showed a skeletal figure with a cloak loosely draped around it. In its hand was a large scythe, the blade dull yet dangerous-looking._

_"This is the traditional reaper in the west. Death. It is a common misconception that a reaper represents death. Death **is** a reaper, though it only collects the souls of the **dead**. It can give life and it can take it away. This is what seperates death from all other reapers; the others only have the abillity to take life. To kill. Reapers can also appear in the form of aging men, corpses, even angels."_

_I snorted with laughter. The image of a skeleton with large, feathery wings and a bloody scythe in one hand was suddenly visible in my mind's eye._

_"So reapers are good, then?" I enquired, absent-mindedly flicking through the pages of the dusty old book. I was answered with a sigh as he closed the book. _

_"Haven't you been listening to a word I have said?" he demanded, sounding completely fed up. "Reapers are bad news, Suze, **bad** news. Some reapers have no free will, so people can summon them and make them do their work. But, if the reaper can't finish the job it was meant to do, it turns on the person who summoned it...which has happened every time that someone has attempted to summon one. Reapers who have a will and an agenda of their own, however, are bad news. Because the lesser reapers are ghosts...they were humans once, so they think like humans..."_

I was jerked from my memory by a loud buzz of static. I did not realise what it was until Jesse pulled his radio from its holder next to his CD player and spoke into it. I couldn't understand what he was saying because he began to talk in police codes. I really need to learn them.

_"Officer de Silva, we have a 10-16 at 17 Westfield Avenue. Investigate ASAP. 11-27, 10-81 . Code one."_

Jesse swore in Spanish and spoke into the radio in an impatient and hurried voice.

"10-10, can't Johnson take it?"

_"10-48. Just get your ass over there de Silva, 10-0." _The voice half-shouted.

"Ten-four," Jesse sighed and dropped his radio back into its holder.

"I'm sorry, _querida_," he apologised. There was that word again...what did it mean? "But we are going to have to take a detour."

He seem really frustrated so I placed a hand on his bicep and squeezed gently, feeling his muscles loosen slightly beneath my tender touch. I don't know why he seemed so put out, it wasn't like we had anything better to do. The reapers were porobably lying in hiding for now.

"What is it?" I asked, since I didn't understand his strange conversation with his boss or whoever.

"Domestic disturbance," he explained. "Apparantly, the person involved has a criminal record. A pretty juiciy one, too. It's the Holloway residence."

"Holloway," I muttered. That name...ah, yes. Georgina Holloway. She made the headlines a few years ago when her boyfriend and his brother massacred ten innocent people in a hospital five years ago.

Although I was only a year old and living in New York when the massacre took place, I knew the story as well as every other member of this town. Ten people, seven patients and three members of staff, were gunned down in the local hospital. More would have perished had the killers not been caught. Martin and GregoryNewman and Georgina Holloway were charged with the murders and later found guilty in a court of law. Twenty-two year old Martin and his twenty-year-old brother Gregory were executed shortly after their trial and Georgina was sentenced to life imprisonment. Many people believed that Georgina was innocent and most evidence pointed to this conclusion. She was young, naive and simply fell in love with the wrong guy. Appeal after appeal was held on her account and she lost every one of them. But somehow, two years ago, she was released from prison to be under house arrest. She was not allowed to leave her mother's mansion under any circumstances, though she could be free in a sense.

"You know, it was always my dream to become a doctor," Jesse said, sighing mournfully. "In fact, I studied medicine for two years. I was only four years old at the time of the attacks, so I didn't really know what happened. But I was working in a hospital in Chicago as an intern a copycat killer burst into the ward I was working on and proceeded to open fire on everyone in sight."

"Oh, God," I gasped. "What happened? Were you alright?"

I realised instantly how insanely stupid this question was. Of course he had been alright, otherwise he wouldn't be sitting here talking to me right now, would he?

"Yes," he replied, his voice suddenly emotionless. It must have been traumatic for him. "Because I switched my shifts with another intern." He swallowed hard, refusing to let his eyes deviate from the road for one second. "I was overworked and he needed the extra money...I didn't want to switch because I loved working in the hospital so much, but he begged me and I knew that he needed the money more than I did, so I agreed. The next time I saw him, it was to identify his body."

His voice broke and he was forced to compose himself before continuing. I instantly wished that I had not asked about this.

"It turned out that he was dealing with a patitent that_ I_ was meant to be taking care of," he continued, his eyes becoming slightly moist. "And he was just leaving the patient's room when the gunman unloaded seven bullets into him. When I heard about what happened, I knew that it should have been me. I should have been the one murdered that day, not him. I had nothing back then...nothing. He had everything. It just seemed so wrong. After that, I couldn't concentrate on my studies. I couldn't walk into a hospital without feeling guilty over what happened. So I dropped out of medical school and moved back to California to join the police force. I guess I thought that catching people like that gunman would help ease my guilt."

He continued to drive in silence for a few minutes before I built up the courage to speak.

"It wasn't your fault," I told him, reaching over the gearshift and placing a hand on his leg, squeezing it gently. "You made a decision, that's all. You chose what you thought was best...and it saved your life. There must be a reason why you are still here...there is a reason for everything. Don't beat yourself up about it."

He turned towards me and forced a small smile. I knew that it would be hard for him, confronting this girl. It was the murders that she had been involved in (whether or not she was truly innocent) that had provoked the events at the Chicago hospital. And if she was innocent then she was simply a victim of Martin Newman's disturbed mind...just like Jesse.

"My life went downhill after that day," he told me. "Everything changed..."

As he pulled into the leaf-covered driveway of the Holloway mansion, I felt something twist in the pit of my stomach. My eyes took in my surroundings hastily, flitting over the surface of every leaf and the tall oak trees that cast strange shadows on the side of the building.

The house was beautiful. Almost magnificent. The architecture was undeniably gothic and it had an aged look about it. Not the dilapated aged look that my poor excuse for a house had, but a classic, rustic, cosy aged look. The wind casually blew the fallen leaves around the large front yard like tumbleweed. There was something about the house that I just could not place. It looked friendly enough.

As Jesse opened the passenger door for me (he's such a gentleman), I slipped slightly on the wet leaves (it had been raining the night before) and he had to catch me. I turned a more brilliant red than the leaves at our feet before thanking Jesse and apologising for my clumsiness.

We carefully made our way towards the mansion, me holding onto Jesse for support. I knew that wearing my Converse was a bad idea...they are dangerous on wet ground. As we drew closer, I thought that I saw the tail of a cloak disappear behind one of the raised parts of the roof. But I must have been seeing things. Right?

**AN - This is a bit of a filler :). I just needed to get one or two things out in the open...**

**The usual apologies for grammatical/spelling errors.**

**Now for my lovely reviewers...**

**_lost-in-ur-world_ - Thanks :). Updates on this will be slower than for other normal fics... Thanks for reviewing :).**

**_Breaking.Benjamin_ - :D. Thank you :). I love The Frighteners. I always thought that it would make a good crossover so I thought 'why not do one?'. Thans for the review...and for adding this to your favourites :)**

**Aina - Hah...the slap...yes, I had a brain fart during last chapter. And Supernatural? That is great! I love that show:) Now I know why I wanted to add a bit of 'detective' work into it, heh. Thanks for the review :)**

**Frolicking Bananas - Lemon coming up...as soon as I can fit it in somewhere, lol...;) Thanks for reviewing :).**

**Please review! I am addicted...it's unhealthy.**


	6. In Spite Of All The Danger

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_"They said she was an accessory after the fact, but I know the truth...It was cold-blooded murder," - **Mrs. Bradley, The Frighteners**_

The Holloway residence was one of those houses that seemed to be older than time itself. The crimson carpet was torn in places and mud and been trampled into the fibres. The patterned wallpaper was slightly distorted and had that classic 'haunted house' look about it. The bannister that outlined the staircase was mahogany in colour and covered in dents and scratches.

The most unnerving detail about the inside of the Holloway mansion was that all of these inconsistencies seemed to be recent. The broken fibres of the carpet surrounded the rips and tears and the thick layer of dust on the bannister was non-existant around the scratches.

If the decore unnerved me, it was nothing compared to meeting the residents.

"Who are you?" one of them demanded. She was an elderly woman...possibly in her mid-sixties. Her ice white hair was pulled upwards into a Bride of Frankenstein-style do, her skin being pulled upwards as a result. She wore a navy blue pencil skirt coupled with a pale blue ruffled shirt. The colours that she chose only served to emphasise her pale complexion and the many wrinkles that maimed her features.

"What are you doing in my house?" she shouted. I heard movement in the kitchen behind her as someone was obviously startled.

"Hello, Mrs. Holloway," Jesse greeted, smiling professionally and flashing his badge. "Forgive me for intruding, the door was open. Your neighbours heard a disturbance and it is protocol for an officer to investigate."

Mrs. Holloway snorted with laughter and carelessly waved a hand in the air.

"There has been no_ disturbance_," she laughed. "It was probably just my daughter."

At the mention of the word 'daughter', the person in the kitchen shuffled into view.

It was a woman, no older than mid-thirties, though her face seemed slightly weathered. Her dark hair was pulled back into a rough ponytail which hung limply from her head, unlike her mother's more...stern hairstyle. When she saw Jesse and I she dusted off her dress, allowing us to glimpse a particularly nasty looking cut on her hand. It continued to bleed despite having a very thin bandage wrapped tightly around it.

This, I though, must be Georgina Holloway.

I guess that my caring side took over because I found myself rushing over to her to check her hand.

"What happened?" I gasped as she allowed me to take her hand. I noticed that the bandage was wet. I probably would have asked her to show me the cut had her mother not wrenched her away from me.

"Georgina had an accident in the kitchen last night," she explained, her voice not wavering but her eyes lying. I looked to Georgina for confirmation and she smiled sweetly at me.

"I'm such a klutz," she laughed.

When she raised her head, I noticed bruises on her neck. They were a dark purple tinged with yellow and were in the shape of fingers. I suddenly recalled what Jesse had told me about Marta's death...the reaper held her by the neck whilst he killed her.

"Ma'am," Jesse spoke, pulling me away from the crazy woman and her daughter. "You do realise that your daughter will have to be taken to the hospital. It looks like a deep cut. I'm afraid that if you don't, I will be forced to take her myself."

Mrs. Holloway laughed again before pushing Georgina into the kitchen.

"Nonsense," she spat. "My daughter can't leave this house. You are a police officer, you should know why. Our family doctor will come out to see her."

Jesse opened his mouth to say something but then his jaw clamped shut almost instantly. It was obvious that what he had to say would not have been very professional of him. Instead, he chose to clear his throat and turn to me.

"Susannah, do you mind waiting in the car?" he asked, digging into his pocket to produce his keys. He threw me a pleading look that I just couldn't ignore. I attempted to argue with him, but he pressed the keys into the palm of my hand and began to physically walk me towards the front door.

"But Jesse," I whined when we reached the open doorway. "This house...can't you-"

"Susannah, please...just go!" He instructed me in a no-nonsense tone. I sighed in defeat and stepped out into the humid air.

I heard the heavy door close behind me and it became obvious that Jesse knew me all to well. Which was kind of unnerving since I had only known him for two days. Of course, it was my plan to eavesdrop on his conversation with Mrs. Holloway. Now, it was impossible.

So, I settled from walking around the house, observing its exterior. From most angles, the house looked abandoned. Only the front side, visible to those who walked through the front gate, looked intact. The rest of the exterior was covered in moss and fungus and all sorts of physical damage.

I shivered slightly, which caused me to turn away from the house and make my way back to Jesse's car. How could anyone live in a place like this? It gave of the creepiest vibe I have ever felt. While my house is only 65 complete, at least it has a cosy feeling about it...if you stand in the right room.

I slipped silently into Jesse's silver Chevrolet Impala 2005 and shoved the keys into the ignition. I hoped that the air conditioning could chase away my chill. I also flicked the radio on for entertainment purposes before leaning back in the very comfortable seat and closing my eyes.

"In spite of all the heartache you cause me, I'll do anything for you, anything you want me to, if you'll be true to me," I sang, murdering yet another great song. It reminded me a lot of Paul. Whenever he did something inanely stupid or hurtful, I would lock myself in my room and play this song over and over again until my tears dried up. He could never understand why I listened to stuff like The Beatles and Blue Oyster Cult and he tried to talk me into throwing all of my old cassette tapes out. But those tapes belonged to my father. The music reminded me of him. When I was a child and my mother was working overtime, he would drive me up to his parent's house and on the way he would play his music and we would sing along (terribly, I should add) to whatever classic act he had chosen that day.

I opened my eyes again and attempted to turn my attention to something else, afraid that if I continued to think about my father and Paul I would burst into tears.

The song faded out and a new one began to play, the tempo slightly faster than the previous track. That was when I saw something in the rear view mirror...a figure flit past the gates.

I twisted the mirror in an attempt to get a better look at what was out there, but I could see nothing but the gates and the road beyond.

_"But he could play a guitar just like a-ringing a bell, go go, go Johnny go, go, go."_

Though the song used to be my favourite to sing along to with my father I removed the keys from the ignition, cutting Chuck Berry short, and slowly exited the car. This time I did not slip on the wet leaves as I was careful where I stepped. I slowly made my way towards the gate, preparing for a fight, should I find the reaper out there.

I could hear faint voices as I walked forwards, though they seemed far off. Maybe both of the reapers were there. A shiver passed through my body at this thought. I don't think that I could handle both of them at once.

I ran a hand along the rusting gate as I passed it and the voices became louder and clearer. The voice that spoked the most sounded female...and it sounded so familiar.

When i turned the corner and saw who stood there, I froze.

"Well, hello, Suze," Kelly Prescott spoke, her voice dripping with amusement.

"Kelly," I replied, smiling sweetly. I did not need this right now.

Kelly wore a pale pink pencil skirt with matching jacket over a tight white blouse. On her feet she wore court shoes that matched her suit. It was sickeining, really. Matched with her blonde hair, her outfit made her look like a life-size Barbie doll. I wouldn't be surprised if her pretty ample bosom was made out of the same material as Barbie's, either. One of her hands clutched a microphone with 'CT' printed onto the handle. She gripped the microphone with her left hand and I could see a pretty sizable diamond ring on _that_ finger. Great, Barbie gets a fiancé and I can't even find a guy who likes me. There really is no justice in the world.

"I see that you are busy," I pointed out, noticing two men standing opposite her, one holding a portable camera and the other holding one of those stupid fluffly microphones over her head. I don't know what the point in that was, because she was holding herown microphone.

"At least one of us is," she sighed, looking me up and down. I could tell by her expression that she disapproved of my outfit. Of course, my old ripped Replay jeans, converse high-tops and the vintage, thrift-store-bought Thin Lizzy tee that I wore were nowhere near as glamourous as her obviously-Chanel outfit, but at least I was working my own style. Then again, Kelly Prescott always was fake. And she hated me. We went to high school together and she was obsessed with Paul. Needless to say, when he chose me over her, she went ballistic.

"I see you're working the marshmallow look today Kelly," I said, smiling as I tried to insult her. "_Very_ stylish."

She scowled at me, her perfectly made-up eyes boring into mine

"At least I have style," she retorted rather unimpressively. "Anyway, what are you doing with yourself now? Still scamming people out of their hard-earned money?"

"I do not_ scam_!" I lied, moving towards her. "I _help_...and ever since you wrote that slanderous story about me, business has been hard to find."

"Oh, Suze, I was just doing my job. You are vermin and people have a right to be warned," she laughed, tossing her peroxide-blonde hair. "Besides, I am sure that there are many other occupations that would suit you _much _better. Maybe you should try prostitution? Then again, you wouldn't get much...not looking like that."

I could feel the rage bubbling inside of me. I had no control over my body, which probably explains why I lunged at her. I tackled her roughly, landing on top of her on the ground.

"You bitch!" she screamed. "You ruined my outfit!"

I laughed bitterly before pulling my fist back and preparing to sink it into her pore-less face. Unfortunately, I never quite managed to do this as someone grabbed my wrist and pulled me to my feet. I spun around roughly, ready to kick the shit out of whoever it was and found myself staring into the darkest, most loving eyes I have ever seen.

"Susannah, no," Jesse told me, his voice firm and commanding. What could I do but obey every order that he gave me?

I heard swearing as Kelly was helped to her feet by her small crew.

"Officer, thank God," she gushed. "This woman assaulted me and I want to press charges!"

To my complete and utter surprise, Jesse turned to her and laughed...actually _laughed_.

"Save it," he told her. "I heard every word that you said. It was a provoked assault and you are as much to blame at her."

Before we could witness her reaction, Jesse grabbed me and pulled me back inside the gate.

"Thank you," I told him. "I probably would have killed her. And I can't afford a lawyer...Paul's dead, so he wouldn't be much good."

"It's ok," Jesse assured me as we climbed back into the car. "She should not have spoken to you like that."

I laughed gratefully. Wow...I was half-expecting him to bite my head off. I mean, he's a cop and he just witnessed me assaulting one of Carmel's most well-known journalist...and by the look of things back there, Carmel's most recent news reporter. Then again, she did tell me to become a prostitute, which was a whole new low for her.

When Jesse started the car, he turned the radio off, signalling that he wished to talk. I assumed that he wanted to tell me what had happened in the house, but his question completely took me by surprise.

"Paul," he said, his eyes fixed on the road ahead. He did not once glance over at me as he spoke. "You said that he was dead, so he wouldn't be much good at defending you in a court of law. Is he...did Paul come back as a ghost?"

It took me a moment to recover from the shock before I could reply.

"Yes," I told him. One simple word. It did not ask any questions and it did not beg for any answers. Yet Jesse still had more to say.

"Does he...does he live with you?"

I smiled at the emotion in his voice. I did not recognise it, but it sounded pretty hostile.

"Yes," I replied. Again, only one word.

Jesse said some pretty violent-sounding stuff in Spanish, still not looking in my direction.

"But we aren't together anymore," I told him, answering the one question I knew that he would be too afraid to ask. "He just hangs around, complaining about stuff all the time. It's really annoying. I live with two other ghosts, too...one of them is female. So you can see why I do not worry about being attacked in my house. We are all friends and they would not let anything happen to me...just like I would let nothing bad happen to them."

Jesse seemed a little relieved when I spoke, though I don't know what he was relieved to hear...that I was single or that I had three ghostly bodyguards.

"Besides," I said, preparing a joke to break the uneasy silence. "A girl has needs and I'm _not_ a necrophiliac. Besides, Paul is not my type. Dure, I was in love with him once, but ultimately we would not have made it very far. I just want a guy who appreciates me. One who can love me unconditionally and not try to pressure me into things. A guy I can be comfortable around, and does not think that a romantic night in means a night in bed. You know, the kind of guy who is not selfish in bed and genuinely cares about my feelings. Who won't ditch me for a night out with his friends...a guy who won't shout at me for leaving the milk out of the fridge. A guy who will lie and tell me that I look beautiful first thing in the morning and not take one look at me and say 'Oh my God, I cheated on Suze with Grizabella'."

It only took me a few moments to realise that the car was not moving. We had stopped at traffic lightas and Jesse was looking at me in what appeared to be great amusement. Completely mortified that I had babbled on about something like that, I cleared my throat and turned away from him, hastily apologising.

"He sounds like an ass," Jesse said. I couldn't help but laugh. He was right...but I never thought that I would ever hear Jesse insult anyone. "You deserve better. I am sure that there is someone out there who loves you and all of your faults, and maybe you will learn to love them, too."

He seemed distant when he said this, as though his mind was elsewhere. I didn't think much of this, because I was still trying to figure Jesse out. He is a complex guy...there seems to be so much about him that I could not figure out. He was the sweetest guy I have ever met, yet there are darker aspects to him. He seemed to be bottling up so much. If it were possible, he seemed to be hurting a lot more than I was. I assumed that it was because of the recent loss of his sister, but it never crossed my mind that his pain ran deeper than that.

As horrible as it may sound, I felt close to him because of our loss. At least one thing was for sure: I wasn't in this alone.

* * *

Jesse passed the library on the way back to his parents' house so that I could borrow a couple of books. There was not much else to do at Jesse's house apart from listening to his sisters argue. I never watch the television at home so I didn't see much point in becoming a couch potato while I was the de Silva's guest. Jesse would not let me do any household chores for them, though I wanted to to thank them for allowing me to stay. And Jesse...well, I was trying not to spend time with him when I didn't have to. Whenever he was around, I found myself acting like a teenager, giggling and blushing for no apparant reason. I didn't like the way that he made me feel...especially when he showed absolutely no interest in me at all. The last thing I wanted was to fall in love with someone who did not reciprocate my feelings. 

I loaned three books, one called _Reaper Man_ by Terry Pratchett, which I loaned for it's irony and one called _Can You Keep A Secret?_ by one of my favourite authors, Sophie Kinsella. The third was a book that caught my eye when I was leaving,_ 'Serial Killers of the Twenty-First Century'_. Yeah, I'm strange.

When we reached the house, I kicked off my shoes and ran upstairs to Marta's old room get stuck into my books. I decided to start with the serial killer book because it was a hard-back non-fictional book. That and I really wanted to know _why_ I had loaned it. I put it down to the fact that I had once studied forensic psychology.

Imagine my surprise when I opened it and scanned the contents list to see the words Newman/Holloway staring at me. I guess that I don't need to mention turning straight to that page.

_**Martin Newman, Gregory Newman and Georgina Holloway.**_

_On August 7th, 1983 the small town of Carmel, California was the host to one of the most brutal massacres to ever take place._

_The day began like any other at the Point Hope Hospital, Carmel, the staff and patients conversing happily. Little did they know that hours later, the peaceful silence would be shattered by gunshots and terrified screams as hospital orderly Martin Newman, his sixteen-year-old girlfriend Georgina Holloway and younger brother Gregory Newman tore through the hospital, killing ten people in their murderous rampage. Patients were murdered in their beds, staff members were slaughtered when they tried to help...not even those who sought refuge in the hospital's chapel were safe as those in prayer were gunned down on their knees._

_The Newman brothers were executed after a short trial and Holloway was imprisoned indefinitely. Many believed that Holloway was merely an accessory to murder, an innocent girl who simply fell in love with the wrong man and found herself in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was this belief that led her to be released from jail and placed under house arrest in 2004, aged thirty-seven._

_It seems coincidental that in 2003, a copycat killer tore up a hospital ward in Chicago, killing four people before he was gunned down by security guards._

There was more about the deaths, including details of the trial, but I couldn't read it. I refused to believe that Georgina Holloway had commited such a despicable act. She was like a mouse, small and frightened. I founf it hard to believe that she had a single murderous bone in her body.

"So...I see that you visited the Holloway residence today," a voice behind me spoke. I didn't even flinch as Morgan sat beside me. A quick glance around the room let me know that every ghost I had come to know was looking at me curiously; Morgan, Marta, Ralph, Paul and even my father.

"Did you not feel it?" Marta asked, trembling slightly. "In that house? There was something there...something evil."

I nodded in reply. I_ had_ felt something back there, but I couldn't identify what it was. And Georgina...she seemed afraid of something, and then there were her mysterious injuries.

"Georgina felt it, too," I told her. "And I saw something on the roof...I think it was the reaper."

"I need to formulate a plan," I pointed out. "I just want this to be over and done with so that I can get on with my life."

I felt slightly offended when Paul laughed at this. I glared at him and he threw me an apologetic look, but I knew what he meant.

"Are you sure that you want to do that?" my father asked, smiling. Why did he look so amused? "Because I have been watching over you lately and your aura has been acting very strangely."

Great, my dad is dead yet he still manages to mortify me. I could tell by the embarassed smirk on Marta's face that she, too, had been 'watching over me' lately. Well, I guess that Marta was watching over Jesse, but I have been spending a lot of time with him.

"If you are suggesting that my interest in Marta's brother is anything other than for business purposes, then you are sadly mistaken," I said, the nagging feeling that I was lying suddenly hitting me.

My father simply sighed and shook his head before disappearing with Marta. I had no idea where they had gone and quite frankly, I didn't really care.

"So, are you going to do anything about this Holloway girl?" asked Ralph.

"I honestly don't know," I admitted. "I'll speak to Jesse about it, but I don't think there's much we can do. She is under house arrest and her mother won't allow her to see anyone..."

"Suze, you can do anything. You have amazing determination and Jesse has to be one of the most stubborn people that I have ever had the pleasure to spy on. Together, you guys can get_ anything_ done...don't doubt yourself."

I don't know what surprised me more, that it was Paul who spoke those words or that he admitted to spying on Jesse. I was so surprised that I could not reply. I blew my hair out of my face whilst staring him down.

"You know," I said. "I'm just going to pretend that you didn't say that. Now...I'm going to speak to Jesse...make yourselves scarce."

Somehow, I doubted that they would leave. I knew that their favourite hobby was to spy on people that I knew. I usually got a weekly report on my mother's actions and even news on who my best friend Gina's current flame was and if they were good enough for her.

I should have known that being a mediator meant that my life would become the business of every ghost that I became close to. However, I had learned to deal with it, just like I had learned to deal with being alone. But since meeting Jesse, I have begun to realise just what I have been missing. It has been a while since I imagined ripping a guy's shirt off and now that I knew what an incredible chest Jesse had, it became more difficult to push thoughts of dragging my fingernails down his muscular abdomen out of my mind.

You know what? Forget talking to Jesse...I need to take a shower first. A very, very cold one.

* * *

**AN - Yes, I _did_ put the rating down. There will be no M material until later on, so I figured that I would leave it as a T for the time being. I'm getting excited about this story now because I'm getting some good ideas :D...**

**Thank you to all of my readers and reviewers, I appreciate every review :).**

**Please review :).**


	7. Note

I hate to do this, but...

I am putting this story on hiatus for the moment due to a number of things. Those include exams that need to be revised for, writer's block and a difficult time for my family.

I have no idea how long this hiatus will last, but I will get back to the story as soon as I can (I actually have half of the next chapter written already). I just didn't want to leave you guys wondering if I was ever going to update again, lol.

I'm sorry, but I had to do this.

Thanks for understanding :).


	8. Ashes In The Closet

**No Rest For The Wicked **

_"You don't know who my daughter is, do you? Patricia's not to be trusted," - **Mrs. Bradley**, The Firghteners_

"And why are you doing this?" Morgan asked as I pressed myself against a rather damp tree trunk.

"Because the need to know the truth is overpowering," I replied. "Because the search for truth is part of human nature, it is an overpowering urge."

I dared to peek my head around the side of the tree when I heard the front door slam shut. When I twisted my head I saw Mrs. Holloway slowly walking away from her mansion, rubbing her hands to chase away the cold. I took this opportunity to dash towards the house, Morgan hot on my heels. I almost skidded once or twice as I ran but I eventually made it to the door without alerting anyone to my presence.

"I meant why are you doing this without telling Jesse? Why are you sneaking around instead of marching up to the front door and knocking like a normal person? And why the hell are you doing this at seven am?" Morgan demanded and I grasped the door handle. The steel was cold to the touch, but I expected nothing less in this weather.

Fortunately Mrs. Holloway had not locked the door, so I was able to push it open and enter without a fuss. In retrospect I really should have thought about _why_ she had left the door unlocked.

"Mrs. Holloway is a psychopath," I whispered. "She wouldn't let me in even if I paid her a billion dollars just for one second with her daughter."

I looked behind me briefly before moving inside the house, holding the door open for Morgan. Why I did this, I do not know...she could have easily just walked right through it. When she did not appear beside me I turned towards the doorway, shivering slightly at the cold breeze.

"Will you hurry up!" I whispered frantically through clenched teeth. "It's freaking freezing!" But Morgan wasn't paying any attention to me; she was staring straight past me, into the house. I tapped my foot impatiently, failing to register the terrified expression on her face.

"Suze, get out," she ordered, her eyes finally meeting mine. "We can't be here...we have to go."

Seriously, what is her problem? I knew for a fact that _she_ wasn't a goody-two-shoes when she was alive. But the look of blind panic on her face seemed to unnerve me and I pulled my hand back so that the door slammed shut, blocking Morgan from my view. I could hear her screaming at me through the thick oak but I paid no attention to her profanities. If she wanted to get me out of here, she would have to physically drag me.

I darted into the lounge, just in case Mrs. Holloway decided to return in a hurry and spot me standing in her hallway. The last thing I needed was another conviction on my criminal record. After all, I am already suspected of murder.

What I didn't count on, however, was the lounge being occupied. I walked right into a small trembling figure who screamed insanely when I stepped on her foot. As if by reflex my hand shot out and covered her mouth, drowning out that awful sound.

"Will you quit it?" I whispered harshly. "It's me...I just want to talk to you."

Georgina shuddered slightly then nodded so I removed my hand slowly, ready to grip her jaw again if she tried to scream.

"I'm sorry," she apologised. "But you really shouldn't sneak up on people like that."

She pushed her matted hair out of her eyes and smiled weakly, showing me that I didn't need to worry about her ratting me out to her mother.

"Your mother," I spoke. "You don't get on with her, do you?"

I lowered myself into one of the aging chairs, which did not bend beneath my weight. It felt like cardboard and my butt began to ache within seconds of sitting on it. Did Mrs. Holloway_ ever_ buy new furniture? I did my best to look normal, which is saying a lot considering the circumstances.

"Would you 'get on' with a woman who still treats you like you are a little girl...a little girl who constantly needs to be punished?" She asked. Her voice was not hostile. On the contrary, it was soft and almost amused.

She rose from her own uncomfortable seat and signalled for me to follow her as she made her way up the small flight of stairs in the entrance hall. The carpet that was draped over the stairs was mangled. The bolts which were supposed to hold it flush against each step had been ripped away and a huge gaping hole half way up showed the rotting floorboards beneath. The wallpaper was distorted in an unusual way and my guess was that it had not been bought this way. It looked as though something had rippled beneath it.

Georgina led me into a small bedroom which I assumed was hers. It was a very dull room and looked more like a prison cell. A small wardrobe stood next to the single bed and it was filled with drab clothes; all blacks and greys and dark blues and greens. A large painted portrait hung above her bed and the plaque on the bottom of the frame read "Arthur Holloway". His blue eyes matched Georgina's so I assumed that he was her father.

"Your mother hurts you, doesn't she?" I asked her. She gasped at my question and her hand rose to her neck. She shook her head violently, refusing to look me in the eyes.

"My mother is a twisted woman, but still..." she trailed off and gazed down at the floorboards, apparently deep in thought. I took this opportunity to look out the window to make sure that the coast was still clear.

I didn't think that Georgina was lying. I knew that look in her eyes...it was a look that told me she _wished_ that it was her mother who had hurt her. When Paul was alive and we would mediate together I would always return home with inexplicable bruises. My mother thought that Paul was hurting me and I could remember wishing that he _had_...it would have been far easier to explain. Besides, I had been looking for a reason to leave him.

When my eyes drifted over to the window I noticed an urn standing on the sill. It was an old-fashioned urn, shaped like a trophy with the lid loosely resting on the top. When I reached out to brush the dust off the plaque on the base Georgina shrieked and pulled the urn away, clutching it to her chest like a comforter. I looked at her curiously and she shot me an apologetic look.

"My father killed himself after..." she explained. "Mother makes me keep his ashes in my room as a reminder of what I did...she says I'm evil...just like Martin and Greg."

She sobbed quietly as she placed the urn on the top shelf of her wardrobe. She then apologised yet again before silently walking out onto the landing. Of course, I followed her. I followed her all the way into another bedroom, this one much larger than the previous.

This room was decorated in a manner I guess was fashionable in the late...oh, I don't know..._seventeenth_ century. I assumed that this was Mrs. Holloway's bedroom since it had a rather stern feeling. There was also a mink scarf hanging from one of the bedposts and I totally took Mrs. Holloway to be a mink-wearing person. I, on the other hand, am completely opposed to the fur trade so this gave me yet another reason to hate her...like I needed another one.

Georgina bent down and pulled a suitcase from under the bed. When she opened it up I saw the biggest collection of newspapers I have ever seen. They were all yellowing and some were falling apart but there were also a couple that looked almost brand new. Georgina picked one off the top and unfolded it.

**Ten Dead in Hospital Massacre **

A very young Georgina gazed at me from the picture that accompanied the headline. She looked terrified as police led her away.

She unfolded another one which showed her mug shot alongside those of Martin and Gregory Newman.

Another. A sixteen-year-old Georgina crying in the dock.

Another. Martin and Gregory being led to their deaths.

Another. Georgina in her prison cell.

"This isn't you," I told her, wrenching the last paper from her grip. "You aren't this little girl anymore."

Her hands fell to the floor and she began to cry again.

"It was Martin," she wailed. "I loved him. Then he went crazy. I was so scared...I tried to get away but he wouldn't let me go...I thought he was going to kill me."

I held onto her and allowed her to cry into my shoulder.

"Ssh," I whispered, rubbing her back sympathetically. "I know you...you aren't evil like them. Come with me, I can get you out of here. Your mother is tearing you apart."

At my words, Georgina pulled back and looked at me. Her eyes searched my face for some sign of truth. But before she had a chance to reply a loud thud snapped us both back to reality.

"Oh, no!" Georgina exclaimed as she shoved the papers back into the suitcase. She hastily kicked it beneath the bed when we heard the familiar creaking of the termite-ridden stairs. "The closet!"

She gripped my arm and led me (with a remarkable amount of strength) to her mother's large closet and pushed me inside.

"I'll try to distract her," she hissed. "You can leave later."

And with that she slammed the door shut, leaving me in darkness.

* * *

"Why are you like this all of a sudden?" Paul demanded. "Suze, are you even listening to me?" 

"Oh, go rot somewhere," I shot back at him. Well, you would be pissed too if you were locked in a smelly closet with dead animals and lace for three whole hours.

Three hours! That's how long Mrs. Holloway spent in her bedroom. Oh, Georgina tried to get her out. She offered her coffee and even told her that she had a call waiting but no...Mrs. Bradley just told her to bring the phone/tea/mail up to her room. It didn't help that after an hour I desperately needed the toilet. But I just had to stand there with my legs crossed, hoping that I didn't have to resort to peeing in Mrs. Holloway's Prada courts.

Then when I did manage to get out, Paul appears, demanding to know where I have been. Apparently Jesse was looking for me, too, but whatever. All I cared about at that moment was finding a restroom.

I must have driven double the speed limit on my way back to Jesse's parents' house. As soon as I burst through the door he tried to grab me and ask me where I had been but I just ignored him and sprinted to the bathroom. When I emerged again ten minutes later he was waiting for me with his arms crossed and an eyebrow raised.

"_Querida_," he spoke, trying to sound threatening. But whenever he spoke that word, it was in the gentlest voice I have ever heard anyone use. So that word just made me want to giggle like a teenager.

I decided to try and turn the situation into a joke and collapsed against him. If in doubt, use humour. I was too wound up to argue with him.

But, of course, he didn't recognise this as a joke and wrapped his arms around me to prevent me from crashing to the floor. I must say that this was _extremely_ satisfying, especially since he wore a short-sleeved t-shirt and no jacket so I could feel his muscular arms against the bare skin of my own not-so-muscular arms.

"_Querida_, are you alright?" he asked, genuinely concerned. I guess at that point I should have pulled back and laughed but for some reason I didn't. I felt his muscles, heard the caring tone his voice took on and smiled.

I really am rotten...taking advantage of Jesse's good nature. But I hadn't been close to someone in so long and I just wanted to be held. So I wrapped my arms around his torso and rested my head on his chest. His incredibly hard chest, might I add?

I felt him hold his breath when I pressed close to him but I didn't take it to mean that he _liked_ me or anything, no way. I blamed it on my low rider jeans and the view that Jesse obviously had.

"I'm sick of this," I sighed, figuring that I should say _something_. "I just want things to go back to normal."

He laughed, which I found slightly insensitive, given our current position, and moved one of his hands along my back in a motion I suppose could be called a stroke.

"You mean back to your half-built house?" He scoffed.

I pulled away from him and raised my hands in defeat.

"There you go again..." I laughed, though my laugh was devoid of humour. "Every time you do something nice, something like _that_ comes out. I know that my house is a mess; I don't need you to rub it in...you with your well-paying job and family, friends, working car..."

I trailed off, trying to think of something else to say but I ended up screaming in frustration and stalking away.

"_Querida_!"

I didn't get far. My foot was hovering over the bottom step of the staircase when I felt a hand on my arm, holding it loosely enough so that it didn't hurt but tight enough to prevent me from pulling free.

I spent a few seconds debating whether or not to turn around but it turned out that I didn't really have a choice. Next thing I knew, I was facing Jesse again and his hands held my upper arms so that I couldn't turn away.

"Susannah, I am sorry," he apologised. "I honestly don't know why I am like this around you...I'm usually nice all the time, I swear! It's just that every time I...I shouldn't be..." He sighed and shook his head. I could see how frustrated he was getting and I had no idea why. Something was obviously bothering him but it didn't look like he was going to tell me what it was any time soon.

"I like you," he told me. "You are the first person I have been able to trust in a long time. You are the first...you know what? Never mind."

I laughed as he garbled his words. Hey, I was allowed to! After all, he laughed at me. Though I did place a hand on his cheek to seem somewhat friendly. The only problem with that was that it caused him to look up...and by now our faces were mere inches apart. I could even smell the candy on his breath (personally, I wanted to know whereabouts in the house this candy was).

The most unnerving thing happened when his eyes met mine. I found myself paralysed both physically and mentally; unable to think or move. Until that moment, I always laughed at people who said they got 'lost' in someone else's eyes. I mean, how can you get _lost_ in someone's eyes? That's all they are...eyes. They can't capture you or pull you in; they can't hold you and trap you in a moment. Yet as I gazed into Jesse's eyes, there was no other way to describe what I felt. I couldn't decide whether to burst into tears or shriek with happiness. Though it didn't really matter because I wouldn't have been able to do either.

His eyes seemed so...deep. So unlike anything I had ever seen.

I could feel something in my chest. It felt a little like heartburn but it didn't hurt, it was more uncomfortable. It told me that I needed something but would not let me know what.

It scared me.

I moved my head forwards, closing the gap between us. Now I could _feel_ his breath on my lips, I could feel it stop when he realised how close we were. We were so close...all I needed to do was move another centimetre and we would be kissing.

But was I ready? After Paul? I know I never really loved him, but I did care deeply for him. Getting over him would have been easy had it not been for his sudden death. I felt so much guilt and despair after it happened. I guess that was why I slept with him when he came back...I was so glad to see him again and had convinced myself that I loved him. It didn't take long for me to realise my mistake, however. But still...my boyfriend had died because of me. Was I really ready to allow another man close enough to know_ me_, to know who I really am?

"Over me already, huh?"

"Shit!" I swore, leaping backwards and accidentally whacking my forehead against Jesse's. "Paul! Do you have to keep doing that?"

Paul didn't laugh, like he usually did when he scared me. Instead he just stood glaring down at me.

Jesse, on the other hand, was apologising profusely and trying to help me to my feet. Did I mention that I fell back when our heads collided? Well I did...right onto one of the stairs. I probably had a bruise the size of a mango on my ass.

"I shouldn't have..." he started, talking about our proximity.

I assured him that it was no problem and Paul mimicked both of our words. I would have hit him had I not worried about looking even more insanely stupid in front of Jesse. So I settled for telling him to piss off, which obviously didn't work so I was stuck with him cursing Jesse and telling me that I was 'too easy'. I was used to him...he was like this when _any_ guy came too close to me.

"Listen, would you mind coming out with me tonight?" Jesse asked, running a hand through his hair (this was totally a nervous habit). "There's a new display at the old Historical Society and I'm doing security there tonight. It's a mummy display, not really my thing. But Marta was really into history and she was going as my guest. I was taking her for lunch before we went and the table is booked. But obviously she can't go, so...maybe you...could. If you haven't got anything better to do, that is."

He smiled in an attempt to disguise his nerves but I saw right through it.

"Oh, you have got to be_ shitting_ me!" Paul yelled, his hand shooting up to his curly hair. He gripped it as though it was a wig he was trying to rid himself of.

I glared at him, using that 'shut up or die' look that I had perfected over the years.

"I would love to," I told Jesse with a smile of my own. To say that he seemed relieved would be an understatement.

"Thank you," he replied. It was amazing how much happiness four words could bring someone. But I guess he wasn't looking forward to going alone, not after his sister's untimely death.

I guess I was still delirious from gazing into his eyes for so long because I actually thought that he might like me when I stumbled into Marta's bedroom. Which is probably why I headed straight for my messy suitcase and began sorting through it to find some reasonably sexy clothes.

Who was I kidding? What would a guy like Jesse ever see in a loser like me? Jesse with his deep dark eyes, crisp black hair, totally kissable lips and lean, muscular body. Jesse who was kind, honest, caring and headstrong if not a little confusing.

Because I had accepted the fact that I like him...possibly even love him. I know, I know, how can I fall in love with a guy I have only known for a few days? The truth is that I honestly don't know. At first I just thought that he was hot and wanted to jump his bones but now... He has been so kind to me and not because he has to, but because he wants to. He could have left me alone in my dilapidated house but he offered me a place to stay and even cooked for me (yes, he can cook...and he's pretty good at it...better than me, anyway).

Unfortunately the sexiest combo that I owned was a pair of faded and slightly ripped jeans and a grey Abercrombie cami with lace straps and lace along the dip at the front. I used to own a pretty impressive wardrobe but I sold most of my designer clothes when I became short on cash. I'm more of a thrift store girl now. It's not like I have a choice; it's all that I can afford.

I changed into it instantly so he wouldn't think that I had changed just for him. I will admit, I did look pretty damn good. The cami clung to my curves and the jeans emphasised the bits that are meant to be emphasised. The jeans were ripped at the knees and also a little near the hip (over the pocket so no underwear was visible). I even found a cream coloured hoodie that looked reasonable with the blue Converse I teamed with the outfit.

I didn't realise until I was fully dressed that it was only midday.

So I smiled to myself, overjoyed that for once I was reasonably happy. I was in love (I think) and the object of my affections was taking me to lunch (alright, so it was a friendly lunch, but whatever, a girl can dream, can't she?), I was actually using my mediating gift for good and I was helping an innocent woman who was suffering at the hands of her crazy mother.

I know that good things don't usually last, but something told me that this would...at least part of it. I still wasn't sure about the whole reaper deal.

I just hoped that it didn't come too close for comfort.

**AN - Apologies for the long delay (even though I did put it on hiatus :)). To make up for it, I will reply to reviews (because I can't remember which ones I replied to personally because it's been so long...though I do try to reply to everything).**

**Breaking.Benjamin - You got your romp...happy:D. Thanks for the review :).**

**Annabela Weasley - Thanks for the review :)**

**Emmohdee - I gave up on alerts, lol...they are always down. I guess I ould tell you where the girl got the cut but I might spoil something ;). Thanks for the review :).**

**Aina - Not at all. I was actually wondering why I used the name 'Holloway' and I put it down to Mr. Josh then I realised that Holloway Road was the name of the street Frank Bannister's car lost control on in The Frighteners...I'm amazed I did that subconciously, lol. Thanks for the review :).**

**Junaberry Pop - I usually work on whatever story I get inspired for, lol. I can be working on all of my stories at the same time sometime. For me they kind of have a different feel to them so I just write for whatever I am in the mood for. Usually I work on one after the other. Thanks for the review :).**

**Isolde Eris - Thanks for the review :).**

**Querida101 - Thanks for the review :).**

**Something-French-Sounding - There _is_ a reason, lol...it wasn't just a typo. Thanks for the review :).**

**And thank you to everyone who replied to my note...things are looking up a bit so I'm back to work (for now).**

**Please review...I kind of had fun writing this chapter :).**


	9. All In The Past

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_"Persistent residue of the departed. Always a problem this time of year."_ - **Frank Bannister, _The Frighteners_  
**

I have no idea why the six hours between when I changed and the dinner 'date' Jesse and I were going on passed so slowly. It wasn't a date, it wasn't anything special and Jesse did _not_ like me, whatever my feelings for him might be. Yet I still found myself whiling away the hours by practicing my kickboxing technique in Marta's old bedroom.

Marta had not appeared since the night I had that awful nightmare so I assumed that she was making herself scarce, like I told all the ghosts to do. Paul, of course, didn't listen and materialised a few times over the course of the afternoon to criticise my technique. I was too happy to use him as a punch bag after those comments. Somehow all I could think about was the fact that Jesse and I were going to a restaurant...together. I had been so long since I had been in a restaurant, never mind alone with a hot guy.

Jesse appeared around quarter to six to take me down to the car and I am sad to say that I ran down the stairs, almost stumbling on the last few. I heard a childish giggle behind me and when I looked up the stairs I saw Marta waving at me.

"Have fun," she laughed before dematerialising.

I waved my hand dramatically and continued towards the front door. I felt kind of glamorous, despite not being dressed up. The cami I wore pulled in at all the right places and made me seem slimmer than I actually am. The jeans hung low on my hips and they ended just before they reached the floor. I hate it when I am walking on the bottom of my jeans. When I feel the hem through the soles of my Converse it always makes me think that I have stepped on something and it makes me really self conscious.

I had switched my cream hoodie for a black one which was slightly warmer. The weather lately has been no joke. I got goose bumps just from sprinting to the car. Fortunately Jesse's Chevy had the ability to heat the inside of the car, unlike mine which only ever got heated beneath the bonnet.

Jesse wasn't dressed up but he couldn't exactly choose what to wear when he was working tonight. He wore black trousers which hung very nicely on him and a plain white loose T-shirt beneath his black police jacket. Even though he had not intended to dress up he still looked rather dashing. But I'm pretty biased because I'm kind of in love with him. It was the only way to explain that tight feeling in my chest every time I looked at him. It felt like the reaper was crushing my heart, only he wasn't squeezing hard enough to kill me. It made me wish that the real reaper (either one) would appear and get it over and done with because this _sucks_. It hurts like hell and sure isn't a joke.

Jesse was silent for most of the journey, smiling occasionally to himself. I didn't question his actions. I gave up trying to understand him shortly after I met him. I simply hummed along to the radio on my own, trying to see where exactly we were going.

The restaurant that we pulled up to was one I did not recognise. I could see the museum in the distance as Jesse drove the car up a winding path. I was sort of unnerved by the atmosphere that the restaurant seemed to have. Oh, it wasn't bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. It was good...too good. It looked like one of those old English pubs that you see in the movies. At least from the outside; I could see through the large windows that the interior seemed like a cross between posh and medieval. And it was much bigger than any English pub.

I was so in awe of the establishment that I didn't realise that Jesse had exited the car until he was opening the passenger door for me. He did this a lot, I noticed. The only difference was that this time he held out his hand to help me up. I was flattered by this small gesture and felt my eyelids flutter rapidly as I took his hand. I hope he didn't notice.

"Are you okay, _querida_?" he asked, making his voice all soft and swoon-worthy. "You seem uneasy."

I laughed nervously.

"I'm fine...I'm not nervous at all," I lied, stumbling a little which only served to negate my assurance. Fortunately Jesse just found this funny and laughed lightly.

Now that I had an unobstructed view of the restaurant's exterior I could see that it even had ivy growing up one corner. It added to the general cosy feel of the place.

As we made our way to the glass doors Jesse slipped an arm around me. Oh, it wasn't in a romantic way or anything, much to my disappointment. It was simply a friendly gesture and probably a way to steady me. His hand rested in the small of my back and I instantly thought of a scene from the movie 'Hitch'. Hitch was trying to teach that guy from King of Queens how to woo the girl of his dreams and he was telling him about the 'hand rule'. Put simply, if you put your hand too low on someone's back you are making it appear like you only want a night in the sack. But if you place your hand too high it basically says that you only like that person as a friend. Of course, this is a subconscious action but subconscious actions always reveal our true feelings. They can't lie.

It is strange how at that moment I began to attempt to figure out where about Jesse's hand was on _my _back. I could feel his fingers pressed against the base of my spine, roughly where you see those curly tattoos on many women. I didn't know if this was the 'love not lust' position but I did know that it sparked some pretty intense feelings within me. And strangely enough, they weren't sexual feelings. I really didn't get it. I'm a sexually active woman (well, ok, I haven't exactly been _active_ for two years, but you get my meaning) so I know what it feels like to want someone. So it really unnerved me when I just wanted Jesse to hold me. Sure, if he wanted to get freaky then I wasn't exactly going to argue, but this felt...deeper. I had never felt this way before, not even around Paul. Hell, I had felt nowhere _near_ this good when I was with Paul.

I really need to get a grip on myself. It's a hand for God's sake, a freaking _hand_! What would happen if he ever kissed me? I'd probably evaporate.

He smiled at me as we strolled through the restaurant doors and I felt this weird fluttery feeling in my chest. I rolled my eyes at my stupid feelings.

My first thought as I looked around was 'oh, shit'. Seriously. Ok, so I wasn't the only person who was wearing jeans but I was probably the only person wearing an outfit that cost under two hundred dollars. Jesse aside, but he was dressed for work...I was dressed up.

"Jesse, maybe this was a bad idea," I muttered, turning to leave. He gripped my upper arm with one of his large hands and pulled me back towards a little wooden podium thing.

"_Querida_, you look amazing," he assured me, obviously having realised why I felt so uncomfortable.

My mouth fell open at this compliment. I wasn't sure if he had said it to make me feel better or because he actually meant it but I appreciated the thought.

Jesse spoke to the Maitre D' and we were led to a table in the centre of the dining room, just next to a column which was heavily decorated with real plants (though they were all in baskets way above our heads). It seemed rather...romantic and I noticed the Maitre D' surreptitiously wink at Jesse as he left, signalling that this wasn't the table he had in mind when it was a brother-sister lunch. It appears that cupid is a man in a tux with a serious moustache problem.

The menu that stood on the table in front of me was confusing to say the least. I ordered pasta because it was all that I recognised. It had some strange-named stuff on it but I figured that I could pick off what I didn't like.

I wasn't used to places like this. Usually my lunch consisted of leftovers from the previous day (more than likely a pizza) or a sandwich I had prepared in haste. I hadn't set foot in a place this 'posh' since way before Paul died. It made me feel uncomfortable. I was aware of how out of place I was and how much I did _not _deserve to be here.

Jesse began to talk to me - just chatting - but my mind was elsewhere. I took in his smile and how happy he seemed and all of a sudden the restaurant wasn't the only thing that was bugging me.

"So, tell me about your friends," he said as the waiter placed our drinks on the table (soda all around...Jesse was working later and I'm not much of a big drinker). "The, um..." He looked awkward as he tried to think of a 'polite' way to describe my housemates.

"The dead ones?" I asked, apparently shocking him with my straight-to-the-point attitude.

He nodded slowly, averting his eyes from mine. I couldn't help but giggle a little. The first time he met he was calling me a fraud and now he was asking me about my ability? Well, alright, he was probably only asking to make conversation.

"What is there to know?" I asked. I took a swig of soda from my glass before I continued. " Morgan Lane was twenty-five years old when she died. She had a heart condition but ran track for a local athletics club. She was working out at the local gym one day two years ago when she suffered a serious heart attack. I was in the hospital as an outpatient when she died. I found her wandering around the hallways, trying to speak to the doctors. She doesn't know why she hasn't moved on and I honestly don't think that she cares anymore. She can run for as long as she likes now and she doesn't get tired. Ralph Hutchinson died way before I was born. He was in a pretty bad car accident. He didn't stand a chance. Paul and I had been trying to mediate him for a few weeks before he died, too. They became my best - and only - friends after everything that went down with the lawyers and such."

I rotated the half-full glass in my hands, watching in fascination as the ice cubes swirled around in the dark liquid.

"What about Paul?" Jesse asked. It was the one question I really didn't want to answer. Even after two years it was still a rather sore subject. I felt so much guilt for just sitting here with Jesse despite knowing how much Paul didn't want me to be here. Of course, my life had nothing to do with Paul but I felt like I owed it to him to mourn his passing. If only I had been thinking more rationally when I drove round that bend...

"Paul," I spoke. "He still hangs around but all he does is cook, clean and complain. It's a lot more than he did when he was alive, but whatever. He confuses the hell out of me. Some days I wonder why I ever went out with him and others I wonder why I didn't cut him some slack. He was a good guy. He didn't deserve to die the way he did...not for me. I wasn't..."

I broke off and closed my eyes, feeling that horrible prickly sensation in the corners of my eyes. I was about to say that I wasn't worth dying for. Because that was why Paul had died; he was trying to save our relationship when he jumped into the car. But why? Sure, I guess that I _was_ something back then but you just don't get into a car with a pissed-off woman.

"So..." I said before he had the chance to say anything. "What about you? You know all these things about me and I hardly know anything about you." Yet I obviously knew enough about him to fall in love with him. "I know about your sisters and how devoted you are to them...I know that you are a cop, though you obviously don't want to be. I know that you are twenty-four years old. I also know that you drive an 05 Impala...What about the things that really matter? Like where you grew up, what kind of music you like, favourite movies, friends?"

I realised that the movies and music part wasn't important at all but I wasn't going to ask him _only_ personal questions. I didn't want to seem too intrusive.

But he obviously didn't think that I was being intrusive at all.

"I grew up in Pacific Grove," he said with a little laugh. "I moved to Chicago when I studied medicine at college before moving back here when I was twenty-two. I love all music, my favourite movie is _The Godfather_, and I suppose that most of my friends are my colleagues in the PD and interns at the local hospital. Most of my childhood friends moved away to go to college."

"Medicine," I echoed, somewhat impressed. Intelligent _and_ hot. You don't see that often. Though he had already told me that he once studied medicine. "But aren't you only twenty-four? Why were you interning? Don't you usually intern at the end of your degree?"

"It was complicated," he said. "I studied a lot when I was at high school. My parents are very successful and really wealthy because of it and I guess I thought I owed it to them to be as smart as they are. Though I was always interested in medicine, so it wasn't really that difficult. Anyway, when the time for college came it turned out that thanks to my studies I didn't need to do a pre-med year. In the third year of my degree I had the option to intern alongside my studies as long as I chose shifts around my lessons. I wasn't allowed as much freedom as the final-year med students but I was allowed to look after the less...serious patients. But...that's all in the past."

I involuntarily thought back to his revelation about the copycat killer. Martin and Gregory Newman destroyed so many lives. There were their victims, the friends and family of their victims, those who died at the hands of the copycat killer and their friends and family...friends like Jesse. You just needed to look in his eyes to see the abundance of intelligence that he possessed. He could have been a doctor, he could have saved lives. But thanks to that one night (and the chain reaction of events that followed it) he was stuck in a job that he obviously didn't like doing (though he had yet to admit it). He could have been so much more...just like me.

But the person to suffer most from the aftermath of the massacre? Georgina Holloway. She was Martin's girlfriend at the time of the shootings so it made sense that she was implicated. Though I guess the fact that she was found in the hospital, clutching a shotgun didn't help. She was so young...young and in love.

"So..." I said, wanting to keep the conversation flowing. "Why a cop? Out of all the jobs you could have had, why become a cop?"

I thought I saw a flicker of something foreign in Jesse's eyes but I can't be certain. They seemed to darken for a split second before he composed himself. When he spoke, he couldn't look me in the eyes.

"My girlfriend at the time was a cop," he explained. "She worked in Chicago and when I left college she moved back to Carmel with me and joined the police force here. She helped me get the job and..."

He shook his head lightly and sighed.

I was curious, I'll admit it. I wanted to know more about this girl. Was she competition? Was he still seeing her secretly? But he seemed so bothered by talk of her. Was it a bitter break-up? Did she leave him for someone else? It was obvious that he cared about her.

"So does she still work in Carmel?" I asked, all logic flying out of the window. Why did I pry?

"No," he replied instantly, finally looking into my eyes. "We were partners for a while, then she...left. We had an argument and I was never given the chance to apologise."

I laughed a little (though it was devoid of humour) and placed a hand over his.

"So I guess we're both losers in love, huh?" I laughed. "I had a huge argument with Paul the day he died. He was as stubborn as anything and got into the car with me and...well, you know the rest. I keep wondering if I would have been the one to die...you know, if he had stayed at the house."

I sighed deeply (this conversation was turning into somewhat of a sighing competion) when he didn't reply and looked up to see what his problem was. That was when I realised that his eyes were fixed on my hand...the one that casually lay on top of his. Not that he seemed to mind. In fact, I am pretty sure that his thumb stroked mine. Maybe it was wishful thinking, I don't know. What I do know was that we both looked up at the same time. Needless to say, our eyes met.

It was rather haunting, that moment. Though in a perfectly good way. There was something in Jesse's eyes that had not been present before. It brought me down because I could see that whatever it was was getting to him. But there was also something else in there...something that had been in his eyes for the past day or so but had not been there when we first met.

He leaned forward slightly and his head moved an inch closer to mine. It was like that moment on his parents' staircase all over again. All I needed to do was move forward myself and we would be close enough to kiss.

_Close enough to kiss._

Something hit me like a bag of cement. I don't know what it was (maybe it was the fact that Jesse could move forward a few more inches himself but didn't or that I could hear 'Truly, Madly, Deeply' playing in the background) but it made me pull my hand away from his and jerk backwards, almost falling over the back of my chair in the process.

Fortunately the waiter chose that moment to appear with my pasta and whatever Jesse had ordered so I didn't have to hear whatever Jesse was going to say (which would probably have been something like "haha, you seriously thought I was going to let you kiss me?"...or not. Jesse isn't like that, not really).

The rest of the meal was awkward to say the least. Fortunately though, it was over soon and we were heading back to the car.

"I wasn't lying earlier," Jesse announced when we both slid into his car. "You do look amazing." Then he muttered something in Spanish, which I didn't understand.

"What?" I snorted in disbelief. "In my cami and jeans? The sad thing is that these are my best clothes."

To my surprise he didn't laugh, nor did he show any sign of finding what I said even slightly amusing.

"_Querida_, you look beautiful," he insisted. "I hate women who dress up just to impress people. You never know who they really are. You seem so confident despite your situation. Any other woman would have fallen apart."

I laughed at his assumption. If only he knew the price I pay not to 'fall apart'. I cheat, lie, manipulate and deceive. In a way, I was just like Paul...except magnified. Paul's behaviour used to shock me but at least he seemed willing to change for me. Now he was a good, honest guy. Sure, he was as annoying as hell and just would not stop sticking his nose in my affairs, but he wasn't _bad_ or anything. Paul didn't like who I became after his death so why the hell should Jesse? If he ever found out what I did to his sisters...

I suppose I push people away as a defence mechanism. My hard exterior hides the pain that I still feel inside. I can't afford to lose my composure because if I did...well, I would probably cry myself to death. Which isn't actually possible, but you get my meaning.

Usually it takes a few days or weeks for an individual to come to terms with the death of a loved one. For me it had taken two years and I still haven't fully come to terms with Paul's death. Ok, so I doubt that I _really_ loved him but I still cared about him a lot. When you depend on someone, they become your whole life. They become your support, so to speak. And everyone knows what happens when you remove the support from a building. It comes crashing down, breaking into countless pieces. It can never be put back together. Even if you find all the fragments of stone there are still the parts that have turned to dust. Those parts can only be replaced. You have to build it up again, something I have been trying to do for two whole years (both physically and metaphorically).

"Thank you," I whispered, my hand shooting out (totally of its own accord) and placing itself over the hand that Jesse was resting on the gear stick. "For everything that you have done for me. You didn't have to help me at all but you did. You gave me a place to stay, you are looking after me. Thank you."

He blushed slightly and muttered that it was nothing.

The strangest thing was that he didn't even attempt to move his hand, or to push mine away.

In fact, he curled his fingers around my own.

**AN - I decided to cut this chapter in half. Things are going to start picking up from here.**

**Querida101 - Thank you :). My family is doing good but the tests could have went better, lol. Thanks for the review :).**

**Craziness-n-love - Thanks :). I kind of blurted the 'lost in his eyes' bit out, lol. Thanks for the review!**

**Emmohdee - Haha, I lost faith in alerts ages ago. Things will become apparant soon...hopefully. The date may have been a tad disappointing but I have a clear idea of where their friendship is going to go :). Thanks for the review!**

**Sharkina - I usually feel weird when I'm writing descriptions...I hope that people picture it the same way that I do, lol. ****Thanks for the review!**

**Isolde Eris - Due to the 'date' lasting longer than I had intended it to, you will have to wait until next chapter to find out what happens at the museum, lol. Thanks for the review!**

**The rating for this story may go back up soon...I don't know what the boundries are as far as violence and horror goes.**


	10. Pushing Him Away

**No Rest For The Wicked **

_"Do you know me? Am I a nice guy?" "Because...I was doing my job. I don't give a damn about you or anyone." - **Frank Bannister, The Frighteners.**  
_

You would think that a Hollywood premiere was taking place in the museum, not the opening of a new exhibit. Ok, so I couldn't see a single celebrity (though there were a few local faces that I recognised) but the crowd that waited anxiously outside seemed way too large for a simple opening ceremony.

I didn't even realise that the crowd was_ too_ big until Jesse pulled into an empty parking space and looked at the chaos with a worried expression on his face.

I didn't wait for him to open my door this time (mainly because every time he does something nice for me I feel like I am going to faint) so I was out of the car before he could remove his keys from the ignition. He fumbled with them for a moment before yanking them out and reaching into the glove compartment to remove something black and metallic. I didn't realise what it was until he climbed out of the car and pushed it hastily into the shoulder holster that he wore under his black police jacket. I shivered again, as I always did when I saw a gun. Guns cause death and I deal with enough death being a Mediator.

Jesse didn't look at me when he moved around the car to take my arm. My eyes involuntarily followed his gaze and I noticed _why_ the crowd was so large. I can't believe that I hadn't seen it before...a flashing light next to the main entrance. And this flashing light didn't belong to a police car. Because police cars weren't white vans with the word 'Ambulance' printed along the sides.

I chose to look away, allowing Jesse to pull me along. If someone had died in there... I really didn't want to deal with an angry ghost tonight.

It was as I was thinking this that something caught my eye; something that flitted across the roof of the museum...something that seemed to come _out _of the roof of the museum. I saw the flies first, the swirling hurricane of insects that acted as a second cloak. The reaper moved across the roof and rested next to the upside-down 'V' that was the top of the main entrance (the museum looked like a modernised Parthenon). Despite the speed of the wind, the insects that buzzed around the reaper were not blown away.

Jesse suddenly stopped in his tracks and I knew that he had noticed my line of vision. He was aware of the presence of the reapers and knew what they did but he couldn't see them and he couldn't touch them, so he couldn't help me. I don't know if it was this realisation or the fact that the reaper seemed to be searching the crowd for its next victim, but I ran (whatever my reasoning was) towards the main entrance, leaving Jesse to scream at me to come back.

The crowd seemed to part pretty much willingly for me. I guess they didn't want to get in the way of the crazy girl who was actually trying to get in to the museum rather than leave the vicinity as many of the visitors seemed to be doing.

The main entrance comprised of two sets of revolving doors. They were the kind that you pushed on your own, not the stupid slow-moving airport ones, so I was able to burst inside the museum fairly quickly.

There were still people inside the museum, I was surprised to see, and they were all grouped around a couple of men dressed in green uniforms that were leaning over something on the floor and shaking their heads.

It was a strange scene, given the decor of the museum. I wonder if the Ancient Egyptians really _did_ use so much gold and ochre. Though I am pretty sure that they don't stand mummified corpses upright in glass cases with a metal pole supporting them.

There were large tablets on the wall, some of which looked fake (though some were genuine and even had plaques beneath them) and they had hieroglyphics carved into them. Of course, I didn't have a clue what they meant, but I wasn't really bothered. They could be cursing us all for all I cared because one of the green men suddenly shifted and I saw the word 'Paramedic' sewn into the back of his offensively bright jacket.

Then, of course, there was the foot. The foot that was just visible beside the paramedic's knee. Oh, it wasn't severed or anything, I could tell by the lack of blood, but still...it was a _foot_. And the person it was attached to didn't look too healthy.

"We need a body bag," I heard one of the paramedics mutter, his voice laced with disappointment. The small crowd that surrounded the body began to step back and glance at one another in fear.

I almost leapt into the air when I felt hands on my arms and a sudden heat behind me.

"Susannah, what were you...?" Jesse began. "Oh, no. What happened?"

I shrugged, though I think that might have been more to shake off the peculiar feeling that his hands caused me to feel. Judging by the solemn looks on the paramedics' faces I assumed that it was another 'mysterious death'.

My eyes nervously flitted over every surface, looking for some sign of either one of the reapers. Judging by the foam that spewed from the victim's mouth, he had been a victim of the pestilence reaper. I shuddered. Though each death was as horrific as the last I would have rather had one of my organs crushed than melted. As I stepped towards the body I could see its face twisted into an expression of pain and terror. I can't begin to imagine how terrifying it must have been; feeling your life being stolen away from you and not knowing what was taking it. I know how horrific emotional pain can be when it destroys you from the inside out so I knew that it must have been agonising to have physical pain take the same action.

"There's no business for you here, Suze," a cold, sharp voice spoke as calmly as my mother would announce the afternoon news. "The victim's relatives have not been informed of his death yet so you can't possibly con them right now. Or maybe you came here to admire your handiwork."

I spun around to face the owner of this ruthless voice and I saw her standing there in all her fake, designer-clad glory, her blonde hair pulled into a loose updo and a pale orange dress clinging loosely to her no doubt liposuctioned figure. She placed the long champagne glass that she had been clutching onto the buffet table beside her.

"What the hell are you implying?" I demanded, my hands unintentionally clenching into fists which caused my fingernails to press into my palms rather painfully.

Kelly simply chuckled and folded her arms over her chest (which was probably the only part of her that was real).

"Don't you think it's a little strange that you rush through those doors _seconds_ after that man dies," she drawled. I could feel the eyes of the spectators burning into me as she spoke. "He was fitting for about ten minutes and suddenly stopped when you appeared. I find that a little...odd, don't you? Like I find your rushing out of a gas station rest room moments after a woman collapses odd, like I find your scamming Marta de Silva less than an hour before her painful death odd...like I find you conveniently losing your memory of the events surrounding Paul Slater's _murder_ odd."

There were screams. I know that much. Everything else went silent to me. It felt as though my head had been plunged into a warm pool. I was aware of the eyes that glared at me, of the fingers that were thrust in my direction...even of the people who ran out of the museum in fear. I heard Jesse shout something but I couldn't quite make out what it was...not when I saw Kelly's face. Or her forehead to be more precise.

I saw the curve of the '3' first, and then the lines of the '5' that followed. The blood seeped down the side of her nose, outlining her smug grin before becoming lost in the crimson of her lipstick.

"You're next," I spoke, a little louder than I had intended. As soon as I spoke those two words I saw her eyes soften. Her smile faded in an instant as the number dissolved as though it had never been there at all. Of course, it had never _actually_ been there, but you get my meaning.

"Are you...are you _threatening _me?" she asked, a slight hint of fear evident in her otherwise toneless voice. "She's threatening me!" Then she pointed one taloned finger at me and I heard the click of several holsters being snapped open. I knew that the police had their guns pointed at me, I just knew it. I also knew that I had just implicated myself, not only in the deaths of everyone that Kelly had accused me of killing, but also of her imminent demise. How many years do you get for killing twenty-five people? Would I be sentenced to death?

I guess that thought was what inspired me to carry out my next action. Either that or the swirling mass of flies that suddenly materialised next to Kelly. Whatever it was, it caused me to throw myself at Kelly and not only cause several shots to be fired in my direction but also cause the buffet table to split in two beneath our combined weight. I jerked her to her feet once more as a shrivelled hand grasped her pearl necklace in a really pathetic attempt to capture her.

"Hold your fire!" someone shouted.

"Miss, let her go," the same voice yelled. My eyes met with the officer whose gun was currently pointed straight at me. There were seven cops, which I found unfair. Though Jesse was the only cop who had yet to draw his gun. His expression was unreadable, as always, so there was no way to tell what he was thinking. Whatever it was, it probably wasn't very polite seeing as I currently held Kelly in a grip so tight that she couldn't break free from it no matter how much she struggled.

My chest burned with fear that I chose to hide from the others in the museum. I know from experience that some people see fear as a weakness. I didn't want anyone to take advantage of that and catch me off guard.

I pulled Kelly back a few steps (which wasn't easy, let me tell you that), my grip on her arm still as tight as ever and looked around. I honestly don't know what I expected to see. A trapdoor, perhaps? A magical portal to another dimension? Not that I would have been able to focus on any of them what with the reaper suddenly tacking me to the floor.

The flies that swarmed around it buzzed through me (yes, _through_) as it reached for Kelly and wrapped its aged hand around her slender neck. I couldn't see much due to the mass of walking disease that was crushing my ribcage but I could hear Kelly's gasps and the scream that followed.

I clawed at the reaper's skin but it simply flaked off in my hands. It peeled away and disintegrated like burnt paper, revealing what should have been its internal organs. All I could see was a mass of black goo and the maggots that dripped out in the place of blood. I retched, a lump forming in my throat and threatening to spill the contents of _my_ stomach all over the floor. I don't know what bugged me most, the maggots or Kelly (probably the maggots...I would take them over Kelly Prescott any day) but I found myself jerking my leg up and sending my knee into the reaper's stomach cavity. Unlike the other people I had kneed in the abdomen, my knee did not make a thudding noise when it collided...it sort of squelched. But whatever, it seemed to do the trick.

I felt Kelly pull herself free as the reaper flew into a nearby display cabinet. Which I found kind of over-dramatic. I mean I hadn't kneed it _that_ hard. Before the creature had time to recover I grabbed the back of Kelly's dress and dragged her out of the front entrance. I could hear gunshots and bullets thudding into the wall as we ran.

"Let me go," Kelly screamed as the crowd parted to let us through. Either they thought I had a gun or they didn't like Kelly that much. Judging by the amount of slanderous stories that she had written and the amount of people that she had pissed off, I chose to assume the latter.

"Not a chance in hell," I growled, pulling her towards the car park. I could hear the heels of her shoes scraping against the tarmac as she fought my hold on her. But her struggle was amounting to nothing; while she was spying on innocent citizens I was either working out or fighting the undead. I had way more muscle than her. Not only that, but I also knew how to use it.

I didn't know where I was going to take her...I didn't exactly have much of a plan. I just wanted to get her as far away from that creature as possible.

"Keys," I breathed. "Give me your car keys."

I don't know where the idea came from, but it was worth going ahead with.

"I-I don't-" she started before I jerked her violently towards her white Toyota.

"Don't mess with me!" I screamed. "If you want to stay alive, you will give me your car keys."

I could already hear the voices of the cops, one of them shouting at the others and telling them to stand back...a voice that sounded strangely familiar.

Kelly tipped the contents of her clutch bag on the floor and I loosened my grip so that she was able to bend down and grab her keys. I then pressed her waif-like form into the side of the car and ordered her to unlock the door.

She seemed reluctant but a quick jab in the ribs with my elbow convinced her to do exactly what I said.

"Susannah!"

I tried to ignore the voice as Kelly managed to pull the heavy door open and crawl inside. I even reached inside the door to flick the child locks on so that she couldn't sneak away. It wasn't until I jogged around the front of the car towards the driver's side that someone grabbed my arm. As a reflex I found myself thrusting my elbows back and shaking my shoulders but I couldn't break free.

"Susannah, what the hell are you doing?" Jesse demanded, pulling me back and holding my body against his. I should add how distracting this was. Besides, being there in Jesse arms (even though he was restraining me, not holding me) made me feel so guilty about kidnapping Kelly, despite it being for her own good. I felt so...righteous. Or at least like I wanted to be righteous.

"Let me go," I demanded, not letting up my struggle for one moment. "Let me go or she is going to die."

I could sense something nearby. I know that it sounds strange, but you can_ feel_ it when a supernatural presence is around. It's like the air around you changes. I could feel it then, the air was practically alive with electricity. Sure enough, when I looked up, _both_ reapers stood by the museum entrance.

"Susannah, do you see those police officers over there?" His lips were by my ear and his voice was unmistakeably loud despite the fact that he was whispering. I nodded feebly, falling apart in his arms despite how hard I was trying not do. Doesn't he know the way that he makes me feel? Being this close to him was nothing short of torture. "I am the only thing standing between you and their guns. I am the only thing stopping them from shooting you. If you give up now, if you let Kelly go, you can walk out of here as a free woman. If you run they will arrest you and charge you with the murders of those she accused you of killing."

Kelly banged furiously on the windows of her car and the cops continued to point their weapons at me. I knew for a fact that they usually only carry one clip to events like this. How many times had they shot at me and missed? Would I get out of there before getting shot?

As soon as I saw the cloaked reaper push the other one aside and leap onto the roof of the nearest car I knew what choice I had to make. I was simply lucky that the crowd (including the police) were distracted by the car alarm, which had decided to sound in response to the reaper's sudden leap.

"I can't let her die," I admitted. Then I sent my elbow back into Jesse's ribcage. Spinning around to face him I swung my fist at his jaw and while he was distracted I reached into the side of his jacket and pulled his gun from the shoulder holster that it sat in.

Once he realised what had happened it was too late. I will never forget the look of shock and betrayal on his face as he stared down the barrel of his own handgun. My hand shook terribly and I was unable to hold the weapon still but I continued to point it at him.

"I'm sorry," I whispered. I could feel tears streaking down my cheeks. "But I'm not going to let anyone else die because of me. You have to understand that."

Then I lowered myself into the car.

The strange thing was that I cried for barely a second as I thrust the keys in the ignition and drove out of the car park, numerous bullets ploughing into the side of Kelly's rather expensive car. It was amazing how bad the aim of our town's police officers is.

I pressed my foot hard against the accelerator peddle, pushing the car to its limits. The air was still filled with crackling supernatural energy and I needed to shake it off. But how do you escape from something that is everywhere?

"Please don't kill me," Kelly begged, her mascara almost reaching her lips by now.

"For what it's worth, I'm saving your life," I told her. "Not that you would ever know...nobody ever does."

Something in the rear-view mirror caught my eye. Something black. I didn't even realise how close it was until I heard the thud as it landed on the roof of the car. It was kind of like in those movies where they give you a shot of a monster in the rear-view mirror with the 'objects may appear closer than they are' sticker still pasted across the bottom. Except this was real.

"What the hell was that?" Kelly screamed. There was another bang and she shrunk down even further in her seat, her seatbelt pulling her dress up around her knees.

I didn't even have time to speculate over what it was because I found out a split second later. I heard the metallic rip first, and then I saw the blade. Oh yeah, because no self respecting reaper would be seen without a scythe.

I heard the rush of air as the scythe missed the back of my seat by about three inches. Then there was the nails-on-chalkboard sound of ripping metal again and I felt the cold metal of the blade press against my cheek. Instinctively I leaned to the left, away from the scythe. From Kelly's point of view this must have looked extremely odd. After all, the accessories of the dead are as invisible to normal people as they are.

"What the fuck is going on?" Kelly screamed, so far down on her seat that she was practically on the floor. The scythe swept down again as she spoke, shattering the window beside her.

"Shut up!" I screamed. "I can't drive and explain things at the same time. Just stay down!"

Like that was going to calm _anyone_ down. She just started screaming again, trying to bargain with me so that I would spare her life. When this is over she is going to be thanking me...hopefully.

My line of thought was disrupted as the scythe pierced the roof once again, this time actually hitting its target. Which was strange, considering that it caught me beneath my chin.

The car swerved dangerously, turning into side road as I gripped the blade with one hand and attempted to steer with the other. It took the pain a few seconds to set in but when it did I found it hard to concentrate on _anything_. The blade was obviously blunt since my face was still in one piece but that didn't stop it from breaking the skin. The warm blood trickled down my throat, alerting me to the extreme danger that I was in. If that scythe moved to my neck...well, it would be goodbye Kelly _and_ Suze.

The pain in my fingers as they attempted to pull the dull blade away was nowhere near as painful as that in my chin. I probably would have screamed had my jaw not been clamped shut. When the reaper jerked the scythe upwards, I let go of the wheel and placed both hands on the blade. I may not have been able to scream but I was involuntarily making every expression of pain other than that.

A fresh supply of blood dripped from the wound on my chin as I wrestled with the scythe. Sure, it was opening the wound further but I didn't know how much longer I would be able to take the agony of it pressing up against the original raw wound.

I discovered a minute later that it didn't mater anymore. I could feel myself becoming lost to the pain, the whole world around me spinning so violently that I feared I would be sick.

_"You can't just walk away like this!" Paul yelled._

_"I ain't walking away," I screamed back. "I'm driving!" I smashed my foot angrily against the accelerator. If I went fast enough maybe I could leave all of this behind. Paul, the way that he has been making me feel lately, everything._

_"Can we at least talk about this?" he demanded. "You owe me that much at least."_

_The rage fuelled my reckless driving as I swerved into a side street. I didn't care how fast I was going. Just like he didn't care how fast our house was being built. I mean, what the hell is his problem? I thought that he wanted to live with me. Boy, how wrong I must have been. Did he even love me? He had lied about a lot of things so why not that?_

_"Do you love me?" I asked him, the tears that had been falling for the past ten minutes suddenly blinding me. "Do you love me or were you lying?"_

_Paul just stared at me, completely dumbstruck._

_"Of course I love you, Suze!" He spoke, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "I love you."_

I blinked, blood somehow running down the bridge of my nose. Looking out of the car windscreen I saw grass...grass that was brown with damp soil. _What happened?_

"Help!" I heard Kelly scream. Why did she sound so far away?

I reached down to unclip my seatbelt and as soon as I did I fell into the steering wheel and the deflated airbag that hung loosely from it.

_Was I drunk?_ If I was, why would I be driving?

When I opened my eyes again I saw dried blood on the palms of my hands and small cuts along the underside of each finger. _Blood?_

"Please, help me!" Kelly shouted again. Her high-pitched voice just made my head hurt even more.

That was when it hit me..._reaper!_

"Kelly!" I called, climbing our of the passenger-side door. When I landed face-first on the grass I realised that the car had landed in an awkward angle. It was almost upside-down.

"Kelly!" I pulled myself to my feet by gripping onto a nearby tree trunk and heaving.

"Stay away from me!" she screamed. "Help! Please, somebody!" She crawled on her hands and knees, sobbing in fear.

It was then that I realised why my surroundings looked familiar. The position of the car, the trees, the road just visible way above our heads.

This was where Paul had died.

"No!" I screamed, lunging for Kelly. But I was too late. A black blur slammed into her, dragging her about ten feet into the trees. I could vaguely make out the reaper's slender hands as they pressed against the sides of Kelly's head.

_I couldn't breathe. The weight of what felt like a ton of dirt pressed down on my chest. My eyes stared skywards as breath after breath scorched my trachea._

_I could hear choking to my right but my brain didn't really register it. Whoever it was seemed to be having more trouble breathing than I was._

_The ground beneath me was pleasantly warm and this seemed to be lulling me to sleep. I must have been roused from a dream. That would explain the dull, throbbing pain in my head._

_Who was making that noise? It was beginning to irritate me. Maybe if I just turn my head..._

_No..._

_Paul..._

I was drowning. How, I did not know. I could feel the oxygen being pulled from the air around me. I'm sure that's whet it was. How else could I explain my sudden inability to breathe?

The trees seemed to glide around me, bathed in a monochromatic light.

I drew in a deep, shuddering breath which caused my lungs to burn as I strived to provide myself with sufficient amounts of oxygen. Even when I tried to push myself to my feet I found that I had virtually no control over my own body. I fell forward again, my wrists hitting the ground first and the sudden flash of pain that followed caused me to cry out in agony.

Why couldn't I move?

_Why didn't I care?_

My limp hands fell to the damp soil and my fingers pushed themselves into the mud in an attempt to drag my lifeless body just a few inches further. The sight of the mud seeping between my fingers was somehow fascinating, the warmth covering my hands. I watched, hypnotised, as the mud trickled over my knuckles and down the side of my hands, leaving a meandering stain on my hand.

Then, as suddenly as I had lost control of the car, something ploughed into the side of my face and the brown stains on my motionless hands were accompanied by red splotches. Splotches that didn't move like the thick soil though were just as warm.

"You bitch!" a voice screamed as I felt the pain again. My body lay unresponsive as the assault continued. I couldn't fight back. I didn't _want_ to fight back.

"You killed me!" the voice screamed again. Somehow the blows did not feel as forceful. Maybe I was just too numb from the pain or maybe this was what it felt like to die.

Death didn't seem like such a bad alternative right then. Not because of the attack, but because of what I would have to face once it was over.

"Hit me!" I screamed, suddenly hysterical. I wanted to feel the pain, to feel the adrenaline surging through me. It gave me strength, strength I didn't think I had. The physical pain seemed like such a relief after all of the emotional turmoil that I had faced. I was dead for sure now. The police would never believe the truth.

"I'll _kill_ you," Kelly screamed as she flickered before my eyes. "Just like you killed me...just like you killed Paul!"

And then...she was gone. She had moved on, just like that, leaving me sobbing into the dirt. I could feel blood running down the side of my head, but I didn't care. I didn't care because I could feel the pain from the gash it was flowing from. It told me that I was still alive.

I could hear no sounds in the surrounding area, nothing except my own unsteady breathing and the ringing in my ears. The reaper was gone.

"You didn't finish it," I cried. "You were supposed to take me."

How many people had died because I was unable to save them? I should have watched over Marta after I saw the strange number, I should have fought off the reaper in the restroom. Heck, I should have done something to save Paul. And now Kelly Prescott lay in a crumpled pile mere feet away from me. I was going to jail for sure.

I jerked violently when I felt a cold hand beneath my armpit.

"Suze," Paul spoke, his voice softer than I had ever heard it. "Suze, you have to get up."

I let him pull me to my feet but I had no intention of struggling to remain upright. Paul realised this and led me over to a nearby tree so that I could sit upright with my back resting against it. Looking down I was amazed to see that my outfit wasn't smeared with mud.

"Suze, look at me," he commanded, kneeling beside me. When I didn't turn to face him he turned my head towards him and sighed.

"God, Suze..." he sighed. "Don't you dare blame yourself for this. Don't you dare fall apart."

"She's dead," I choked. The words that had been blocking my throat suddenly came out and, despite how numb I felt, the tears followed.

Paul pulled me towards him and held me tightly, gently rocking me in his arms. I knew that this should have at least made me feel better but it didn't. Because Paul wasn't the guy I wanted telling me that everything was going to be alright. I felt nothing when he said that I didn't kill anyone. The only person whose opinion I cared about was in danger because of me. If he was even speaking to me anymore. The reaper was killing indiscriminately now.

"I'm losing everyone," I sobbed. "I can't lose anyone else. I can't lose him."

"Do you love him?" he asked, sighing softly. I paused before answering. Do I tell him the truth? After all, the last words he had said to me before his death were "I love you".

"Yes," I whispered, pulling away from him to emphasise my point. "I do."

* * *

Paul didn't speak a word to me as he helped me limp to the police station. Where else was I supposed to go? I would be arrested as soon as Kelly's body was found and I obviously needed medical attention. The police would find me at the hospital for sure. 

There was an argument in progress when I walked through the doors of the police station on my own. I caught my reflection in the glass on my way in and I looked a mess. My neck was soaked with blood and my face wasn't much better. I had obviously hit my head pretty hard on the way down.

I saw that the argument was between the sheriff, a creepy-looking guy in a suit whom I had never seen before in my life, and Jesse. My heart sank as I realised that I must have gotten him into a heap of trouble. After all, I kind of beat him up and stole his gun. The only reason that he was unwilling to fight back was that he sort of saw me as a friend. I hoped.

Jesse was the first to see me. As soon as his eyes landed on my zombie-like form he came rushing out through the office door and placed his hands on my upper arms.

"Susannah," he breathed, his voice filled with blissful relief. His eyes were soft and I could tell that he had been worrying about me. But why? What had I done to deserve any compassion?

I wanted to do nothing more than throw myself into his arms and cry into his shoulder. I wanted to tell him what had happened and hope that he would understand as Paul had. But that was the thing...Paul and Jesse were nothing alike. Jesse was the compassionate one yet it was Paul who had held me as I broke down. I didn't even deserve that. I was nothing. I was a murderer who condemned those who got too close to her. I didn't wish Kelly and Paul's fate upon anyone, least of all Jesse.

"Kelly Prescott's body is about fifteen feet away from my car, which has crashed off Oak Road," I spoke almost mechanically.

"You wouldn't happen to have anything to do with what happened to her, would you?" the sheriff asked, masking his shock rather well.

I shrugged, which was an honest reply. I couldn't remember much about the accident. I knew that I had driven her out there to die but if I had left her in the museum she would have died anyway. It was a no-win situation.

I could barely feel the handcuffs close around my wrists or the hand that gripped the chain between them and drag me away.

"Susannah!" Jesse yelled. "You can't honestly think she has anything to do with this?"

That was so him...trying to protect me despite not having any evidence to prove that I was innocent. How did he even know what had happened to Kelly? He didn't. Just like he didn't know that he could be next.

"How do you know that?" I asked him, stopping so that the officer beside me had to stop too. "How do you know that I am innocent? You hardly know me!"

The hurt expression that adorned his handsome face only served to fuel the torrent of tears that mingled with the blood on my face.

"Here's a newsflash for you Jesse," I spat. "I'm not as innocent as you think. That night we met? It was all a set-up. I stole from your sisters...it's how I get by. I scam people. That's how pathetic I am. Your sister probably died because of me. Susannah Simon died two years ago...you would have liked her. But she's not me anymore. Everything I told you was bullshit. I don't care about you, I don't care about anyone. You were just another sucker."

I laughed humourlessly as the officer beside me yanked on the handcuffs and led me away.

As I was pushed into my cell I kept telling myself that I had meant to hurt Jesse, that I wanted him to hate me and never see me again. It was for his own good.

But as I trembled alone on the bed, crying with dry eyes, I realised that I was wrong...so wrong. I needed him, my heart knew that.

Was this the price I had to pay to protect the ones I love? I refused to live with my parents because of the violent ghosts that appeared and now I had hurt the only person I had cared about in the past few years to protect him.

The cold tiles of the cell and the hard, unforgiving mattress and drab gray sheets told me more than anything that for the first time in my life, I was truly alone.

And it was all my fault.

**AN - Apologies for the delay. I had writer's block. So, to make up for it, this chapter is longer than usual :). **

**I have no idea when the next chapter will be up...but I am sort of looking forward to writing it so hopefully it shouldn't be too far away.**

**Please review :).**


	11. Thirty Six

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_"You walk around like you have no feelings...but the truth is you're just scared! Goddamn hypocrite. Why are you doing this? What are you afraid of?" **Lucy Lynskey, The Frighteners**_

They allowed me to clean up, for which I was thankful. They even brought a doctor from the hospital to check me out. It turned out that I had a mild concussion and needed five stitches in my chin. They even informed me of Kelly's autopsy report. She had a broken rib from the crash and apparently the cause of death was cerebral haemorrhaging caused by extreme pressure on her brain.

They didn't charge me with anything then but that didn't stop them from questioning me.

I slept unusually well the night of my arrest. I guess it was the only way that I could escape my thoughts and the nagging feeling that I had done the wrong thing.

I just wanted Jesse.

He visited me once or twice during the night, when he thought that I was asleep. He would walk into my cell and just stand there, probably staring at me, for several minutes. Whether he wanted to question or berate me, I didn't know. I didn't really care, either. I could feel the coldness of his stance even when my back was turned to him. Why wouldn't he _say_ anything?

After he had stood for a while he would walk out and slam the door behind him.

Then I would cry.

It was a horrible feeling, crying over a guy. I had cried nowhere near this much when Paul had died, which was a horrible thought. Jesse was still alive. But unrequited love sucks. Not that I would ever know if Jesse returned my feelings or not. There were all those little gestures that he used to make. The way that he touched my hand, smiled at me, gazed into my eyes...they couldn't have been for nothing.

Why did I_ want_ him so much? This was for his own good. The reaper had already killed two people I knew well. I had met two others minutes before they died. If it was getting personal then I didn't want him in the firing line. Maybe when this is all over I'll apologise and explain everything. If he still wanted anything to do with me. I wouldn't blame him for hating me.

When I drifted off, I had a dream about him. It was a cruel dream. We were a couple and were moving into a house on a Wisteria Lane-esque street. We both looked a few years older than we were now and as we were unpacking I distinctly remembered carrying a baby in a car seat into the house. I placed it on the sofa and walked over to a large dining table when Jesse came up behind me, wrapping his arms around me from behind and peppering the back of my neck with kisses. When I turned around he lifted me onto the dining table and slid his hands up my thighs, pulling my underwear down my legs a moment later. I asked about the child and he told me that it was sleeping soundly, then...we made love. On the table, in the same room as a sleeping child that was obviously ours.

I woke up angry. I had dreamt about events before, sometimes they came true, sometimes they didn't. I felt that this was a cruel way of reminding me of what I had passed up on.

Either that or I had been single for way too long.

I don't know what time it was when I was roused from my sleep and led to a large interrogation room. It was just as old as the observation room I had been led to the day after Marta's funeral. The tiles were cracked and dirty and the floor was cracked and tainted from years of wear and tear.

The sheriff sat opposite me on a large table in the centre of the room and placed a single file in front of him. I was still handcuffed, which I found a little offensive. They hadn't charged me with anything so why were they holding me?

The silence in the interrogation room was broken by the scrape of the door being pushed open. I raised my head to see the creepy-looking guy from the night before saunter looking quite shifty. He shuffled into view, looked at me, then yelped.

Seriously.

It was all I could do to stop myself from laughing.

"George?" the sheriff spoke, and I could tell from his tone that he was used to this behaviour. He seemed fed up with it to be honest.

"Yes," George replied, seemingly composing himself. "If you wouldn't mind, sheriff, I would like to speak to Miss Simon alone."

I dropped my eyes back to the worn spot on the table that had fascinated me for the past five minutes. I didn't like this guy already. I remember what had happened the last time that I was left (almost) alone with an incompetent police officer. I was already in a foul mood what with the dingy cell and too-tight handcuffs so the last thing that I needed were accusations thrown my way again.

"George, I don't think-" the sheriff started but was cut off by the creepy guy, who reached into his jacket and pulled out a badge.

"Sheriff, this badge reads 'Federal Bureau of Investigation', not 'Carmel-by-the-Sea Police Department'," George spat. "So you will do as I say or so help me God you will be working as a traffic warden by the end of the week!"

The sheriff visibly paled and practically fell out of his seat in an attempt to leave the room. Gee, I didn't know that a lump of metal had so much power. Other than a gun, of course. Have you _ever_ been in the firing line of a gun and not felt like you were going to die just by looking at it? That was one of the reasons that I hated guns. I don't like their coldness, or the fact that with the simple twitch of a finger they could take someone's life. I deal with way too much death for my own good.

So when the sheriff left and 'George' emptied his pockets, you can understand why I got a little nervous. He placed his badge on the table first, then his gun, from which he removed the clip and placed it beside the actual gun. Then he removed a second clip from his pocket and placed it beside the first. This struck me as a little odd, especially when a pair of Aviators followed. Then a wallet, cuff links and car keys.

I couldn't hold back my laughter any more. I should have thanked him, really, for cheering me up. But he obviously didn't find it as funny as I did.

"Do you find something...funny?" he asked, twitching when he spoke.

"No, I was just...um, trying to figure out if this was a joke or something," I laughed.

He said nothing as he slid into the seat the sheriff had recently vacated. The silence continued as he opened the file and perused its contents. The same thoughtful look that adorned everyone's face when they read that file spread across his and he checked each and every sheet and the photographs attached to them.

"Well, Susannah," he spoke after minutes of agonising silence.

"Suze," I corrected him. "My name is Suze."

_Only Jesse has the right to call me Susannah._

"_Suze_," George corrected himself. "You seem to have a fairly impressive track record here. Several accounts of breaking and entering as a teenager, you were held hostage, were a frequent visitor to the local hospital and your boyfriend died in an accident that you caused two years ago."

I heard the chain on my handcuffs jangle lightly as I trembled.

"Paul died _after_ the accident," I reminded him. Or was I reminding myself? "I-I had nothing to do with it."

"Oh, but you don't sound too sure of that, Suze." I could hear the smile in his voice and it made me sick. How could he smile over something like this?

I heard his chair scrape against the tiles as he rose to his feet, obviously carrying the file with him. I continued to stare at the worn spot on the table, hypnotised by its dullness.

"Twenty-five deaths," he continued. "Twenty-five unexplained deaths in the past two years and they all seem to be connected in some way. They began with the death of Paul Slater two years ago, who died of lung failure after surviving a particularly dangerous crash. Then police officer Jennifer Reyes collapsed less than a month later in her home and the autopsy report showed that she had suffered enormous pressure on her heart. Two weeks after that, Lynette Sanders developed and die from the bubonic plague in less than two minutes. Those were the first in a series of extremely unusual and inexplicable deaths. Though lately it has come to our attention that one person seems to be in the middle of the latest deaths. Marta de Silva, sister of Officer de Silva of the Carmel-by-the-Sea Police Department died from Ebola not long after meeting you. A few days later, Melanie Grainger suffers severe lung failure in a gas station rest room and you are seen fleeing the scene moments later. Joshua Park dies from Smallpox in his home the next day and you mysteriously appear with Officer de Silva at the scene and pretend to be a forensic psychologist. And then there are the events that transpired tonight. An as of yet unidentified man collapses and dies from an as of yet undetermined cause and you burst in less than five minutes later and kidnap a guest. Now her body is lying in the morgue and, what's this? She appears to have died from cerebral haemorrhaging which was caused by unnatural pressure on her brain."

Even his footsteps fell silent as he threw two photographs on the table infront of me. He threw them directly on top of the spot that I had been staring at so that I was forced to look at them.

It was Kelly. Or at least what was left of her. One was a shot of her whole body, her dress crumpled around her, no longer clinging gracefully to her frame. The second was a close-up shot of her face, bloodied and bruised from the crash. There was no evidence of the reaper's attack or of what it had caused. It looked as though she had died in the accident. But I knew better.

Her skin was whiter than my old friend CeeCee's, and she was an albino. Her skin was so white that in places it had turned blue. The corners of her eyes wrinkled unnaturally and tiny fragments of dirt were trapped in her eyelashes. She was the most beautiful girl in my class back in high school. Now she was nothing. A corpse rotting in some locker thanks to my inability to protect her.

"You are a very dangerous woman, Miss Simon," he commented. "Or would the correct word be 'girl'? Twenty-one years of age. Just like Kelly here, you had your whole future ahead of you. A whole world of possibilities. It is such a shame that you chose to follow such a dark path."

I pulled the photograph of Kelly's face towards me. The veins in her neck and around her ears and eyes were more noticeable than they should have been. It was like a scene from a horror movie. You know the type, the George Romero ones. She looked as though she had been dead for days, not hours.

"What exactly are you implying?" I asked, my voice trembling despite my effort to remain casual. "Are you saying that I killed these people? How would I have caused someone's brain to swell, or heart to stop beating? How could I crush someone's lungs without cutting them open? How could I infect people with diseases that were eradicated _centuries_ ago?"

George pulled the photographs out of my line of sight and removed his black leather gloves. Beneath them his skin was pale and wrinkled, despite his relative youth (he couldn't have been much older than forty).

"There are people in this world that have extraordinary abilities," he told me. "Some psychic surgeons claim to have the ability to cause their hands to pass through the skin of a patient in order to cure them. Nina Kulagina had a number of telekinetic abilities, one of which was to alter, and even stop, the heart beat of a frog and later a hostile psychiatrist. Poltergeist activity is also a common occurrence around troubled young women. The activity usually focuses around a single person and has led to the belief that poltergeist activity is actually a form of psychokinesis. According to some researchers, poltergeist activity is the outward manifestation of psychological trauma. Which would explain why your boyfriend was the first to fall victim to your unfortunate rage."

"I did not kill those people!" I assured him, my voice rising involuntarily. "You don't know what you're talking about."

I pressed my forehead into the palms of my hands with my elbows resting painfully on the hard table. I could feel a familiar feeling bubbling up inside of me but I tried to repress it. No good ever came of letting my rage go.

"I know what I am talking about," he spat, moving too close to me for comfort. "When you want something bad enough, it can happen. There is no way to explain it. Paul wasn't building the house fast enough for you, he didn't treat you the way you wanted him to...then he died Kelly Prescott's hatred for you was no secret and she did her best to make the aftermath of Paul's death as painful as possible for you...now she is dead. But what did Marta de Silva ever do to you? She was innocent, yet you still saw fit to kill her. I don't know how you are killing these people, but it is obvious that something is going on. Do you know that Nina Kulagina suffered burns on her skin when she used her psychokinetic powers? The incisions on your fingers and chin were fresh when you were examined. Explain that!"

My hands trembled violently, causing the chain on the handcuffs I was bound with to jangle audibly this time. I could sense a crackling energy around me and I shuddered in anticipation. This was not the energy emanated by the undead; it was far too weak. It wasn't as noticeable, but since I was the one producing it, I knew that it was there.

"I-I saw something in the gas station bathroom," I revealed, twisting the cuffs around my wrists. "A cloaked figure. It killed that woman. I saw it the night Paul died, too. Its hands were in his chest and he was choking. I communicate with the dead...I have been able to for as long as I can remember. I guess that's why I'm seeing these things. I see numbers appear on people's foreheads and those people die at the hands of this...this..._reaper_. There's another one, too...pestilence. I don't know why-"

"Oh, please," he scoffed, much to my annoyance. "This 'reaper' is nothing more than an alter ego...it is the murderous side of your personality, separated from your consciousness as a way to explain your actions. It satisfies your compulsion to kill."

That was it...I was shaking so much by that point that even the objects he had lined up on the table began to tremble. Then I realised that they were not shaking because of my movements, oh no. Even the table began to wobble and the screws that held both chairs to the floor screamed as they were wrenched from where they had been embedded for years.

There were no tears; I was way past that point.

"You-you're doing it now...are-aren't you?" he demanded, suddenly reverting to the twitchy little rat that he had been ten minutes ago. I wanted to send one of the chairs crashing towards him, pinning him to the wall as he felt a weak reflection of the pain that was wracking not only my body but now my very heart and soul.

But that's not how it works. Mediators have uncontrollable telekinesis when they are severely angry. It's like poltergeist activity in a way. The worst that can happen is pictures falling off walls and doors slamming repeatedly. But it still freaks a lot of people out.

"Shut up!" I screamed at him. "I'm not a murderer!"

George, however, was not swayed in his conviction. He pressed himself against one of the tiled walls and despite his obvious terror he managed to open his suit jacket to reveal what resembled a bullet-proof vest.

"You can't hurt me!" he screamed. Yes, screamed. The angrier this guy got, the less intimidating he became. As suddenly as it began, the miniature-earthquake stopped.

"I think that you are behind each and every one of these mysterious deaths and I intend to prove it by any means necessary!"

* * *

For some reason my almost-empty cell seemed a lot more inviting than it had last night. I even sighed as I sank down onto the uncomfortable mattress and the snapped coils dug into my side. 

None of the discomfort mattered anymore. I was dead. That stupid Agent George was going to find some way to convict me and would probably push for the death penalty when that time came. I don't know what hurt more, the fact that I would be executed for crimes that I didn't commit or the fact that I was actually trying to save the person who's death had caused my arrest.

I didn't even cry. I was numb in every possible way.

I don't know how long I lay in silence, gazing at the peeling paint on the cell wall after the interview. I know that someone brought a tray of food and glass of water for me but I was neither hungry nor thirsty. If I had even attempted to eat, I am sure that it would end up splattered on the already-stained toilet seat.

I hated feeling like this, I really did. I hated feeling guilty over the way I had treated Jesse, I hated feeling angry towards George, but most of all I hated feeling frightened over what awaited me. Even if I was 'lucky' and got a life sentence, I would never be able to survive in jail. I'm strong, I know that, but my sarcasm offends a lot of people. I can be a pretty offensive person. The COs would probably find me face down, merging with the floorboards within a week.

I was still in my dream-like state when someone pounded on my cell door. Why the hell would they do that? It's not like I can open the door.

"Miss Simon," one of the officers who watched over the cells called. "You have a visitor."

Great.

My mother always worried about me, especially after Paul's death. It got to the point where I would only talk to her over the telephone. No doubt she had got wind of my arrest from one of her colleagues. The media sure do love a scandal.

I didn't move, not even when the door scraped open and slammed shut.

"Holler when you're done," the officer told my visitor.

I could feel the tension in the air. That's my mother...tense. She cared about me a lot, I knew that. The only problem was that sometimes she cared _too_ much. Almost to the point of restricting my freedom. She never approved of anything that I wanted to do. In fact, the only thing in my life that she ever fully approved of was my relationship with Paul, and look where that got me.

I closed my eyes (despite facing the wall) and pretended to sleep, hoping that it would be enough to drive her away. Unfortunately, I felt the bed dip down beneath her (unusually heavy) weight.

It didn't register then that my mother's slim frame would not cause a prison mattress to bend. She barely touched on one-twenty. That wasn't it, though. The hand that found it's way onto my arm was larger than my mother's and had a far more peculiar effect on me. And...I tensed. Yeah, rule number two when pretending to sleep (after closing your eyes)...remain loose. I mean, you aren't as stiff as a store mannequin when you sleep, are you?

I knew who it was even before he spoke.

"Susannah, we-we need to talk," he told me. His voice was so soft and confused that it tugged on my heartstrings in a way that a sound had never done before.

I could feel myself falling again and I couldn't do that, I just couldn't. If he died because of me...

"Susannah?" he asked when I didn't respond.

"Go away."

I was pleased with the lack of emotion in those two words.

"Susannah, don't be like this," he growled, the softness completely gone from his deep voice. "You at least owe me an explanation as to why you treated me-"

"Fuck off," I suggested. What? I tried to be polite and it didn't work. Besides, I wanted him to think that I hated him.

Didn't I?

"For what it's worth, George Jensen is an asshole." This time his voice was toneless. I still refused to roll onto my back and look at him. "And I know that what happened to Kelly Prescott wasn't your fault."

I squeezed my eyes shut again and willed my body to remain stiff and not roll over so that he could see how much I was struggling with my emotions.

"_Querida_, you aren't a bad person," he whispered.

_Querida_.

He called me '_querida_'.

This wasn't how it was supposed to go! He wasn't supposed to call me 'querida'; he was supposed to hate me! He was supposed to want nothing to do with me!

"Please, don't shut me out," he begged. I could tell that he was becoming frustrated. Good. Maybe he would leave me alone soon.

I felt a tear drip from my eyelashes onto the pillow (if you can call it that) and I shuddered slightly. Why did I have to love him so much? It scared me. I had never fallen this hard or this fast before.

His hand slowly left my arm and he ran his fingers along my bicep as he moved, probably to try and elicit some kind of response for me. It worked, but my response was not visible.

"I know what this is." His weight had left the bed and I could hear him pacing the floor. His voice was no longer soft and gentle. In fact, he sounded angry. Really angry. But why? Was he angry because I refused to respond?

I wished that he wouldn't show so much emotion. I was drowning in it and I swear I would break down and spill everything if I wasn't careful.

"Paul, right?" He asked, laughing slightly. " Oak Road. Car accident. The reaper. This is about Paul, isn't it?"

I shifted uncomfortably. Did they ever replace these damn mattresses? I could feel the individual broken springs through the cheap material.

A sigh behind me snapped me back to reality and I shuddered. Just his mere presence caused me to feel unnatural things. Alright, so they were perfectly natural, just not towards a guy you don't stand a chance with.

"_Nombre de Dios_!" he cried when I didn't reply. "Do you think you are the only person who has lost someone? Do you think you are the only one to hurt? When I met you, you were so tough and confident but that was all an act. You're just scared. You are scared of asking for help, scared of trusting another man; you are even scared of the ghosts you deal with every day. Am I right?"

I flipped over to face him whilst sitting on the bed. I didn't care if he saw my tears or any sign of weakness.

"What would you know about fear?" I demanded, anger flaring up inside of myself. "My whole world was ripped out from underneath me. I lost my boyfriend and after that everything else seemed to follow. And now people I know are dying... I may not be responsible for those deaths but I feel guilty as hell about them. You lost your sister, Jesse...I lost everything. So don't you dare try and console me by telling me that you 'know what I'm going through'."

Jesse's neutral stance faltered a little and he stumbled back as though I had slapped him. His eyes...they darkened and he raised a shaking hand and ran it through his hair. If I didn't know any better, I would say that my words had hurt him. He looked almost as devastated as he had when I had shouted at him the night before.

My chest burned again with that unpleasant, fiery sensation. It felt as though my heart was struggling to beat, shuddering dangerously instead of beating properly. It had felt like that for hours now.

"After the incident in Chicago, I was just like you," he told me, doing a poor job of masking his hurt. Though the way he spoke led me to believe that this was _old_ hurt...something he had been living with for a long time. "My girlfriend helped me through it. She...helped me realise that I was meant to live and that fate was responsible for my not working that day. She even transferred to this police department so that I could leave Chicago and return home. We were living here for almost a year when I stayed over at her house and we argued. It was a really bad argument and I said some things that I regret and should never have said. I didn't mean any of them. I left for work furious at her and when I returned that night...they said that she had been dead for hours before I found her. Her heart had been crushed. It was morbidly ironic what with our argument. Her name was Jennifer Reyes...she was the first victim after Paul. I...I never apologised to her and she died thinking that I hated her. I very nearly loved her and it kills me that she died thinking that I didn't value our relationship."

As he turned I saw sparkling lines on his cheeks. He was crying?

My heart sank as I realised what I had done. If Paul had not come back as a ghost he would have died thinking that I hated him...if the reaper came after Jesse anyway, he too would have died thinking that I had both hated and used him.

I pushed myself up off the mattress and walked over to him.

Everything made so much sense now. The way he had acted towards me, his protectiveness over his sisters. They were all he had. The reaper had destroyed both our lives, just in different ways. It made the pain of hurting him even harder to bear. I had forced him to feel what Jennifer had more than likely been feeling towards him when she died. And for that, I despised myself.

"Jesse, I-" I started before he turned to face me.

"You didn't know? You're sorry?" He asked, slightly amused. "That doesn't matter. Susannah, I... When I met you, I felt things that I have not felt since she was alive. I have felt things that I did not feel when I was with her. And that scared me. I thought that I was devoted to her, but you... I barely know you yet I find myself dreaming of you. You wanted to know why I act so strangely around you? Well there is your answer. I thought that if I pushed you away, I wouldn't be betraying her memory anymore. But when my feelings did not change after what you said...I realised that I was just being stupid. Susannah, please-"

I pressed my finger to his lips.

Why? Heck, I don't know! I was too delirious from what he had said. He...felt for me? In what way? As a friend? A sister? Or something more...?

When our eyes met, I found myself falling again. He was confused, I could tell. There was so much that I wanted to say to him, so many feelings that I wanted to express, but I just didn't know how. I placed a hand on his chest and was amazed when he didn't even break eye contact with me. He wanted something, but I don't think that even he knew what it was.

"Jesse, I'm sorry about what I said, but you have to understand-"

What he had to understand, he never found out. Because right in the middle of my sentence he leaned down and pressed his lips against mine.

My whole body froze. Was this for real?

He was applying minimal pressure, as though he was waiting for my permission. What could I do but to give it to him?

As soon as my lips moved, something inside of me seemed to click. Or should I say explode?

Right then and there, as soon as I returned his kiss, every doubt that I had melted away. I was selfish, I didn't care if this would only hurt me in the long run. Here, now, this was heaven.

I lifted up my arms and wrapped them around his neck as his own hands slid from my waist up my back to pull me into him. He was so gentle in every way, holding me as though I was the most precious thing in the world. My whole body tingled from the power of the simple, no-tongues-involved kiss and I swear I would have fallen in a heap on the floor had his arms not been around me.

I no longer felt worthless and undeserving of any affectionate feelings he had towards me. Because a kiss like this, simple yet passionate...how could this be _just_ a kiss? I never felt like this when Paul kissed me, or any of the guys I had kissed before him. And I honestly felt like I wanted to kiss no other man again. No kiss could ever be as sweet as this. It was exquisite.

When we pulled apart he kissed my lips lightly once or twice before pulling me into him in a warm embrace. I allowed my hands to wander down to his waist, trailing over the muscles I could feel beneath his shirt in the process.

"I'm so sorry," I sobbed, burying my face into his neck. He smelled sweeter than he kissed. "I never meant to hurt you... Well, I did but you have to understand that I only wanted to protect you."

"I know," he laughed. "But the pain of not letting you know how I feel? That was much worse. I should thank you really, for forcing me to realise what I was missing. You did hurt me, but rest assured, it was worth this."

I pulled back a little and gazed into his eyes. He was smiling, and for the first time since I had met him, I could see true happiness in his eyes. The knowledge that it was I, Susannah Simon, that was the reason for that happiness caused my heart to swell with joy and just a little bit of egotistical pride.

I stroked his cheek with the thumb of my left hand and pulled his face towards me so that I could kiss him again. Yeah, I'm greedy. I wanted more of the absolution that his kiss provided me with.

This time he didn't hold back. His tongue teased mine and he gently pressed me against the wall, sinking into me so that I could feel every part of his muscular form. I groaned in encouragement, snaking my hands up his torso, beneath his shirt. His skin felt delightfully warm beneath my fingertips and it made me want to touch more of him. I couldn't get enough. I wanted him then and there, my body knew that much. But in a dirty prison cell? No way. My crazy hormones may have taken control but they weren't_ that_ crazy.

It became very difficult to breathe and I knew that I needed to break off the kiss but I so didn't want to. I hadn't felt so good in a long time. So much for believing that I would never be happy again. Then again, I was starting to realise that I had not been truly happy to begin with.

Unfortunately he also needed to breathe, but instead of pulling away completely, he rested his forehead against mine.

No words were spoken, for which I was thankful. My eyes were closed and I wanted so badly to hold onto the amazing feelings that the kiss had evoked.

Besides, how could I possibly translate my feelings into words? 'I love you' just didn't seem to cut it.

When I finally opened my eyes, he had pulled away, though his hands still rested on my hips, his thumbs lightly brushing the exposed skin above the waistband of my jeans. I moaned quietly, this small action having an almost explosive effect on me.

I smiled, safe with the knowledge that I was no longer alone and raised my eyes to his face.

It only took a few seconds for that terrible burning sensation to spread through my chest once more. The fear that gripped me threatened to tear my body in two...and I wished that it would. At least it would have meant that I didn't have to see the blood slowly running across one of his eyebrows, staining the small white scar crimson. He noticed that something was wrong and he was smiling no longer.

"Susannah?" he asked, his voice shaking.

I didn't want to tell him. I closed my eyes tight but when I reopened them, it was still there, carved into his forehead.

'36'.

**AN - This was faster than even I expected. But...I was promised an update of My Queen (which I am addicted to...you should totally read it if you don't already) in exchange for this, so... I worked my ass off to get it up :). **

**Please review :). You all know how much I love reviews ;).**


	12. Sacrifices

**No Rest For The Wicked**

_"There's one way to deal with this thing. I have to have an out-of-body experience, and I have to have it now." **Frank Bannister, The Frighteners.**_

I watched the red lines vanished before my eyes, leaving nothing to suggest that they had ever existed.

This couldn't be happening. It had to be some sick joke on the behalf of some ghost I had pissed off. No force in this world could be cruel enough to give me a taste of heaven and then cruelly snatch it away from me, leaving the bitter tang of fear behind.

"Susannah, are you-?" Jesse started but I interrupted him with a strangled sob.

"Not you," I spoke, as though it would somehow keep him with me. But even I knew that there was no stopping this thing. It was a reaper and reapers are designed to take life, not to be swayed by the begging of some girl who happened to be hopelessly in love with the soul they were after.

His eyes flashed with understanding.

"_Querida_, no," he told me, trying to warn me against doing something reckless. "This doesn't mean anything! It's just a number."

But I knew otherwise, even before the skeletal hand slid through the rusting metal of the door.

I grabbed Jesse's waist and pulled him behind me in a rather pathetic attempt to protect him. If the reaper had to get through me first then maybe it wouldn't harm him. Maybe...

But if reapers were only supposed to take the soul of the person they were sent after, why did it try to kill me to get to Kelly?

I searched my mind for some piece of information that would help Jesse, but nothing seemed good enough. All I could remember at that moment was Paul's reply when I had asked him what to do if I was ever faced with a reaper.

_"You want my advice? Run. Get out of its way. If it has come for you...close your eyes and hope that it's quick and painless."_

The cloaked body of the reaper followed its hand and as it moved forward, I did the only thing that seemed right...I leapt for it. I pulled my fist back and slammed it into its bony frame as I moved.

Only...my fist didn't connect.

Oh, it connected with _something_, if the explosion of pain in my knuckles was anything to go by, just not with the reaper. I screamed in pain as my knuckles burned from the force of the blow. My whole hand was numb and I had to grip the door (which was obviously what I had punched) to remain upright.

I didn't understand it...I leapt right_ at_ the damn thing!

I guess reapers aren't as 'solid' to mediators as ghosts are.

It took only a moment for me to realise that the reaper was now behind me...which was where I _so_ didn't want it to be.

"Susannah, what's going on?" Jesse asked, completely bewildered. I stumbled along the wall, willing feeling to return to my bruised knuckles as I tried to get closer to Jesse.

I fell onto the frame of the nearest bed and reached for him, despite the reaper's dangerous position between us.

"Jesse, get out of here," I pleaded, my heart pounding in my ears. It was all I could hear over my own shallow breaths.

He tried to run. He was fast, too...but the reaper was faster.

I saw the reaper twist violently in a way that should not have been physically possible and plunge a deadly hand into Jesse's chest.

Everything went quiet, as though someone had turned the volume of the world down. I could still hear my heart, thumping so violently that I thought it would beat out of my chest.

Jesse's whole body jerked backwards as the hand clenched and his face twisted into an expression of pain. I think I cried out, I'm not sure...it felt like I was underwater and the sounds seemed muffled and so far away. I could hear Jesse choking, his hand curling into a fist just above his heart, passing through the reaper's.

I tried to move towards them but I stumbled and fell face-first onto the ground. My vision shook when my head hit the concrete and I swear I saw something glowing just above me, but I couldn't bring myself to look at it. It wasn't until hands gripped my shoulders weakly and tried to feebly push me upright that I remembered what was transpiring a few feet away from me.

You can imagine my surprise when I heard the ragged breathing of my saviour and felt the warmth of his touch. This wasn't Paul...or even my father.

Jesse was slowly regaining his breath as he helped me to my feet, seeming almost as weak as I felt.

"What happened?" he gasped, greedily sucking in air as though he had not breathed in a thousand years. "I could feel...something...crushing my heart."

I just collapsed against him and wrapped my arms around his waist as my eyes searched the cell for some sign of the reaper.

Nothing.

"Where did it go?" I asked, well aware that Jesse couldn't see it.

I thanked all that was holy that he was still alive. I could feel his uneasy breathing against my own pounding chest and it frightened me. He was obviously as scared as I had been and I honestly didn't blame him.

I could feel tears that I had obviously started to shed when he had been attacked trickling down my cheeks. With my ear pressed against his chest I could hear the steady beat of his heart. Such a monotonous sound had never seemed so beautiful.

The air buzzed with static and a moment later a black and glowing blue blur sped from one wall to the other. I blinked in confusion, still holding on to Jesse for dear life. A moment later...again.

"Suze, get out!" I heard, and it suddenly became clear. It was Ralph. I cried out in happiness. I knew they would come through for me!

"Jesse, tell the guard you are ready to leave," I asked him. "And please, sound calm."

Jesse nodded and slowly pushed me away. I was reluctant to relinquish my grip on him but I knew that it was necessary if we were to get out of here.

"I'm ready to leave now," he called, speaking through the small hole that the guards used to check on the prisoners.

I could hear the footsteps of the guard becoming steadily louder in the hallway despite the screams of Ralph and a recently-materialised Morgan as they pushed the reaper back through the walls of the cell.

As soon as I heard the scraping of the keys in the lock, I braced myself, ready to fight my way out. The door was barely open a fraction of an inch when I slammed my foot into it and heard the satisfying crack of it colliding with the guard.

"Hurry," Jesse urged me, gripping my hand tight as he pulled me out of the cell.

The hallway stretched several feet both right and left and I craned my neck both ways, trying to determine which route led to the exit. I blocked the door of the cell so that the reaper would have to pass through me before it got to Jesse. I didn't care if it had to cut me down; there was no way that I was letting it anywhere near him.

"This way," Jesse signalled, pulling me to the right. It's strange how I caught a glimpse of a bruise on his jaw as he turned. I swallowed my guilt and followed him obediently. I honestly didn't think I had hit him that hard.

My eyes darted around the hallway as we ran, searching for any sign of impending danger. I could hear the voices of my ghostly companions growing gradually louder as we ran.

"There's an exit to the car park up ahead," Jesse informed me. "We can run out there and drive to safety."

I thought about telling him that there was no 'safe' place for him anymore. Not while the reaper was still after him. But escape was better than nothing. At least I would be able to help him if we escaped together.

I stumbled dangerously as we ran, refusing to let go of Jesse's hand. The hallways were empty and bare and this made it easier to spot anything out of the ordinary. Such as Ralph falling through the wall just behind us. I spun around, jerking Jesse to a halt.

"Suze," he breathed, seeming ecstatic for a guy who is constantly complaining. "Are you guys alright?"

I shook free of Jesse's grip and moved towards Ralph, grinning insanely.

"Is it gone?" I asked. "Where is Morgan?"

Ralph raised a steady hand to his dark hair and cried out in triumph.

"She ran off to find you...and...I think we got it!"

To emphasise his point he jumped up and down on the spot a few times, punching the air in triumph.

"You should have seen us Suze," he told me, whistling loudly.

I let out a deep breath and fell back against Jesse, laughing from the relief that I felt. Of course, I didn't expect the reaper to be gone forever...just long enough for me to figure out how to banish it.

Ralph smiled back at me, his eyes alight with joy and pride.

_"Watch where you're going!" I heard. My initial instinct was to ignore this voice but something nagged at me._

_"Son of a bitch!"_

_I shook my head and leaned into Paul. I didn't have the energy to care about others tonight. I just wanted to get home, have a nice warm bath and then sink into my soft bed and sleep for hours._

_Besides, I was used to people shouting at strangers in the street. I grew up in New York, after all. People shout all the time in big cities. It was just strange that it should happen in a relatively small town such as Carmel._

_"Yeah, you better keep walking!"_

_I leaned a little to the left, my curiosity getting the better of me. There were only two people in the street besides Paul and myself, one being the man doing all the shouting. I guess it was the casual manner of the man being shouted at that bugged me. He wasn't reacting to this stranger at all. In the big city that wouldn't have seemed strange, but here..._

_"Paul," I said, stopping my boyfriend in his tracks. He raised his head and looked down at me, smiling instantly as though I would be expecting it. He can be so dense sometimes._

_My eyes drifted over to a glowing figure across the street. It was a man, no older than thirty-five and he swore violently as he kicked a lone can, sending it bouncing down the street._

_"Have some respect for the dead!" he shouted after the other man. Paul's head snapped in the direction of the voice and he sighed impatiently._

_"Not again," he groaned. "Suze, just leave him, alright? It's not like we're compelled to do anything."_

_I raised an eyebrow in dismay and jerked away from him before jogging after the ghost._

_"Hey!" I called when I closed in on him. "You lost?"_

_The ghost spun around in a manner that would have made any live person sick._

_"'Scuse me Miss?" He did a poor job of disguising his surprise. "You...you talking to me?"_

_I raised an eyebrow again, crossing my arms over my chest. Ghosts really don't know what phrases have been done to death, if you will excuse my pun._

_"No, I was talking to the pixie behind you," I replied sarcastically. "Who else would I be talking to? So...what's the deal? You get lost on the way home from a fancy dress party? Or have you been wandering around in confusion for the past thirty years?"_

_He shook his head in confusion and was even brave enough to take a step towards me._

_"Wait a minute...you're not kidding around, are you?" He asked in disbelief. "You can actually see me."_

_I nodded slowly. At least this one was catching on faster than the others usually do._

_"Does the word 'Mediator' mean anything to you?" I asked. I felt Paul come up behind me and place his hands on my arms._

_"Sort of," the ghost replied. "I was told to find one after the crash. Like hell I did... Stupid ghosts, thinking I can't figure out my business on my own."_

_He tilted his head to the side and smiled at me in a friendly manner._

_"So I'm guessing you're a Mediator?" He asked. "And your boyfriend, too. By the way, I would appreciate it if he at least tried to look even vaguely interested. Or am I keeping you guys from something?"_

_I groaned and pulled away from Paul's hands._

_"You have been hanging around for the better part of thirty years," I informed ghost guy. "I think that figuring things out on your own isn't working. So why don't you just tell me what you know and I'll do my best to help you."_

_He looked unsure, as though he would damage his male pride by accepting help from a Mediator...a teenage Mediator at that._

_"I was driving home after a party," he explained, obviously deciding that a little bit of help wouldn't hurt. Either that or he figured I wouldn't be able to help anyway. "Then this car comes speeding round the corner and ploughs headfirst into mine. Next thing I know, I'm by the side of the road and nobody can hear me. I figured that maybe I wanted revenge on the idiot who rammed me but he died in the accident, too."_

_He sighed deeply and kicked another can across the street. It bounced twice before landing with a splash in a deep puddle._

_"Name's Ralph, by the way," he added. "Ralph Hutchinson."_

I should have known that something would happen. It was too quiet; even the clock high above us wasn't ticking.

Ralph barely had time to react when a scythe swished through the air. I don't even think that he felt it embed itself into the top of his spine. With a flash, the reaper stepped out of the wall and yanked the scythe backwards, pulling a blue ball of light from Ralph's ghostly form.

I screamed loudly, almost knocking Jesse over in an attempt to flee the reaper.

Ralph's body crumpled in a heap on the ground then slowly dissolved into glowing particles which blew away when the reaper swished its cloak.

"Ralph," I whispered, blinking in disbelief. He wasn't...he _couldn't_ be...

But he was. Ralph was gone, and there was nothing I could do to get him back.

The reaper pounded its scythe on the ground and the blade clicked into place, ready to cut through the next object that got in its way. And right at that moment, that object was me.

I couldn't move, not even when Jesse gripped my hips and attempted to pull me backwards. My eyes remained fixed on the scythe which glistened and gleamed dangerously in the dim light. The bulb above its head flickered ominously, casting frightening shadows on its cloak. I had never realised before how real this reaper seemed. In the sense that it didn't seem like an apparition like other ghosts. The ghosts I dealt with exuded a faint glow, which set them apart from the living. This reaper...it was real in every possible sense. I could see the scuffs on its leathery cloak and the way that the thin layer of brown skin seemed to fall into the joints and tear slightly with every movement. The only thing that separated this reaper from everything else in this world was the fact that it was invisible to all but us mediators.

"Susannah," Jesse called, snapping me from my reverie. I saw the flash as the light caught the line of the scythe's blade and jumped, pushing Jesse backwards as it sliced into the ground at my feet.

"Go!" I yelled and pushed him forwards, hot on his heels as he ran. I heard another crash and shout behind me as the reaper was pinned down yet again.

This didn't slow me down, though, not one bit. I stumbled round the corner and crashed through the door to the stairwell, my feet slipping on the newly-mopped floor. I swore violently and gripped on to Jesse for support. I didn't care if I hurt myself; I just wanted to get out of there. I told Jesse to go on as I steadied myself and zipped up my jacket. The last thing I wanted was to get hooked on a door handle. Believe me, it happened a lot. I have lost count of the times I have been running from a violent ghost and have hooked an open coat on a door handle. I have woken up in hospitals with concussion a couple of times thanks to those mishaps...other times the ghost has been caught off guard and ran straight into the door that hooked me. Those were the lucky times, especially with new ghosts. It usually takes them a few weeks to realise that a heavy blow to the head won't knock them out anymore.

I gripped the railing and hurried down the stairs, leaping a few at a time. Jesse paused halfway down to make sure that I was following him and when I reached where he stood he held my arm again and we continued together.

I wasn't watching where I was going, which is the easiest mistake to make when fleeing an assailant. Especially when you happen to be fleeing said assailant down a flight of stone steps. So I guess it goes without saying that I lost my footing and flew (rather spectacularly, might I add?) several feet into the air. Fortunately, Jesse was running in front of me (so that I could see if the reaper snuck up on him) so he didn't see my acrobatics. He did hear my collision with the floor, however, and my grunt of pain as I landed awkwardly on my left wrist.

"Are you alright?" he asked, leaning down to check on me. I hissed slightly when he touched my injured wrist in an effort to help me to my feet once more, but the pain wasn't that bad. I could still move it, which was always a good sign.

"I'm fine," I assured him. "Just a little embarrassed."

His nervous laughed soothed the pain caused by said embarrassment and I gratefully held onto him when he lifted me upright.

It was unusually silent in the stone stairwell; I couldn't even hear the footsteps of the other police officers. I took comfort from this small mercy and breathed deeply. I guess we had outrun the reaper...for now.

The only problem with silence is that you can hear even the slightest noise. Such as the click of a gun.

I whirled around, my wrist jerking painfully in the process.

Crap.

The pistol was trained very carefully on my head. Right between my eyes I assumed, considering that I went cross-eyed when I tried to stare into the barrel.

The tension was eased slightly by the fact that this _agent_ seemed to have stumbled upon us by accident, if the way the hand that held the gun trembled said anything.

"Ah!" Agent George Jensen yelled, his voice shaking more than his hand. I probably would have laughed and pounced on him had he not been holding a gun. He may have shown a sign of weakness (and fear) but he was still holding that...thing. My phobia of guns was an irrational fear, but a fear nonetheless.

"Don't even think about moving, Simon!"

Uh, no problem.

"She's insane," I heard Jesse say, shocking me enough to tear my eyes away from George's weapon. "When she realised I was unarmed she forced me to call the guard before attacking him. She asked me to drive her to the airport."

I watched him in confusion as he moved away from me and stepped behind Agent Jensen, as though he would protect him. This seemed to give Agent Jensen that little piece of strength that he needed to cock his pistol and close one eye.

_He was actually going to shoot me._

I opened my mouth to scream at him, possibly to remind him that he would be gunning down an unarmed innocent but nothing came out. Well, alright, I squeaked, but I'm not that proud of it. I'm faced with death and the only thing I can think of doing is a very bad impression of Mickey Mouse.

I saw his finger twitch and I closed my eyes, preparing for the deafening shot and the pain that followed. Would I even feel any pain? If he shot me in the head would I be dead before the pain set in?

There was a muffled thud which was followed by a loud clatter and rushed footsteps.

I opened one eye.

When I saw nothing but the empty stairwell, I opened the other and my eyes were drawn to ground-level by a metallic scrape and the ruffling sound of fabric being tampered with.

"Well, come on," Jesse laughed as he removed a spare clip from the inside of George's jacket and slammed the butt of the gun against his head when he groaned. "When he wakes up, he'll head to the airport."

Jesse looked up at me expectantly and held out a hand to help me step over George's unconcious body without stumbling. Again, when I touched him, my whole hand tingled unnaturally. It may have been unnatural, but it sure as hell wasn't unwanted.

His hand remained in mine as we jumped the rest of the stairs and broke out into the cool night.

The sudden drop in temperature was much appreciated. I was beginning to feel sick from all the running and I could feel a bead of sweat trickling down the back of my leg. I hate feeling all sweaty, even when I'm working out. I hated the smell, too, and the last thing I wanted to do was to smell like a workout in front of Jesse. Unless, of course...never mind.

"We'll take my car," he decided. "It will be too risky stealing a squad car and we don't want them to be able to track us."

_Us_. It sounded so good when Jesse said that. I had never been part of an 'us' or even a 'we' since Paul's death. Morgan and Ralph _helped_ me, they didn't work with me. I came up with scenarios and they acted them out.

My eyes fluttered shut as my thoughts wandered to Ralph. When the reaper cut him down, had he ascended to shadowland? I hoped that he had found peace at last. He deserved it.

"Susannah?" Jesse asked. "Are you alright?"

I must have shivered as his hands began to rub my upper arms, willing warmth back into them.

"No," I admitted, not only to Jesse, but also to myself. "But I will be."

* * *

As Jesse drove down the dark roads, the streetlights flitting past us and illuminating the interior of his car for a brief moment, I was given time to think about what I should be doing. But truth be told, I was clueless. I had saved Jesse for now (or should I say Morgan and Ralph saved him?), but I had no idea what to do next. 

I couldn't touch the reaper, that was for sure. It only emphasised the fact that I was powerless to save him. Sooner or later the reaper would return. And when that happened...could I really stand back and watch him die?

I felt the car slowing down and suddenly became aware of where we were.

"Once George awakens, they will search my house, your house and my parents' house," Jesse explained. "I have friends here, so you will be safe while I find a lawyer and work on your case."

I looked at him then back out the window at the large building whose parking lot we were currently cruising through.

"The hospital?" I asked. He sighed theatrically and neatly pulled the car into a parking space close to a small metal door.

"Susannah, would you rather stay here or in a jail cell?"

"Whatever," I grumbled. I wasn't in the mood to argue, not when my head was spinning so badly. It felt as though I had just stepped out of a waltzer cart after a particularly violent ride.

When Jesse stepped out of the car, I waited patiently for him to open the passenger door. I knew that he liked doing it and I wasn't exactly looking forward to standing up again. I was going to need all the help I could get.

I don't know what made me open the glove compartment. My eyes just drifted over to it and it suddenly seemed like a good idea. I guess you could say that I wasn't thinking straight, either. Especially when my fingers closed around the handle of the gun that Jesse kept in there and pulled it towards me. For some reason this gun didn't seem as frightening as the others. Because with it came an idea.

I continued to stare at it dumbly as Jesse pulled me out of the seat when it became obvious that I wasn't going to move by myself.

I couldn't touch the reaper because the reaper was neither living nor dead, but... Ralph and Morgan could. They tackled the reaper and saved Jesse's life. The living may not be able to interfere with reapers, but the dead could...

"I'm sorry," I muttered, wondering if Jesse had heard me over the slam of the car door. "But I can't protect you like this..."

Then I jammed the barrel of the gun against my right temple and slid my finger over the trigger.

"Whoa!" I heard Jesse shout before my body became pinned between the car and something hard and warm and the gun was wrenched from my feeble grip.

"What the hell do you think you are doing?" he demanded, his voice no longer as gentle as it had been for the past hour.

I stopped struggling and just let my body relax. Well, as relaxed as it could be considering that Jesse's body was pinning me to the car. I may have been hysterical but I still knew when a hot guy was pressed up against me.

"The only way I can stop this thing is if I'm dead...I can't touch it when I'm alive." It was when I heard the nasal quality of my voice that I realised I was sobbing. They were hysteric sobs, not upset sobs.

"Susannah, no," he instructed, his tone suggesting no nonsense. "Do you think I will be able to live with myself, knowing that you died for me?"

And suddenly it made sense. As if I had suddenly been medicated, the stupidity of my plan became evident to me. I wailed in frustration.

"But I can't _do_ anything," I cried. "Not like this. I'm going to have to sit back and watch you die, just like Kelly...just like Paul."

He pulled back so that I was no longer pinned and wrapped his arms around me in a comforting manner. I leaned into him gratefully, not caring that his heat was causing me to burn up. It had been so long since anyone just held me.

"There...there is a way," he whispered in my ear.

* * *

"So remind me how this works," I requested, shrugging off my jacket. Jesse stood with his back to me, messing around with several chemicals, none of which were familiar to me. 

When he turned around his face was as dark as it had been when he had suggested this idea.

"I'm going to induce hypothermia in you," he replied, still not warming to the idea. Warming, hah. "Patients who have suffered from hypothermia have been successfully revived without extensive damage to cells after an hour. Induced hypothermia is frequently used on patients undergoing heart surgery and brain surgery. You will be clinically dead, but not brain dead. I will revive you after half an hour, forty minutes at the very latest. You said that mediators recover faster than normal people so I hope that this will help with your recovery, but _querida_...this is very dangerous. Even if I manage to successfully revive you..."

"Hey," I said, grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him towards me. I sat on the edge of a gurney, so it was quite easy to do this. "Stop worrying. I'll be fine."

My hands wandered up his shirt, which had been pulled half-open during our escape, and began to button it up properly, my fingers brushing against his silky chest hair in the process. His chest ceased moving as soon as my skin touched his and I laughed.

"You weren't exaggerating when you told me how you felt, were you?"

His warm fingers came up beneath my chin and lifted up my head. Part of me was slightly annoyed by this because my wandering eyes had found something that my cave girl side liked a lot...namely what I could see beneath Jesse's shirt. But when his lips met with mine I no longer cared that I was deprived of the knee-weakening sight, because...well, he was kissing me. A picture may speak a thousand words but with a kiss like that who _needs_ pictures?

At first I wondered why he didn't answer my question and why he had kissed me to avoid doing so. Then it hit me...the kiss _was_ the answer. And whoa...he _definitely_ wasn't exaggerating. His gentleness shocked me, but I welcomed it. I may act all tough but what girl doesn't just want to be loved underneath it all?

He moaned slightly into the kiss, which I would have done had I not been trying to save my breath so this kiss could last forever. I was well aware of the fact that we were no longer in a dirty jail cell but were, in fact, in a clean, sterilised hospital room. Coupled with the fact that he was settled between my open legs...

I could feel his hand sliding up my body, beneath my thin cami and my body tensed uncomfortably. Not that it felt bad, no way, it felt incredible. Something was just nagging at me, screaming at me to pull away. I guess it was my self-esteem. It had taken quite a beating in the past and it wasn't prepared to forget that just because some large, beautifully tanned hand was sliding up towards an area that hadn't been touched in so long.

The hand that had been in the process of unbuttoning his shirt suddenly took on a mind of its own and pressed itself flat against his chest, pushing him away from me.

"_Dios_," he cried, suddenly removing his hand. "_Querida_, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to be so-"

"It's alright," I choked, mentally beating myself to death. "I just...I guess I'm not ready for that kind of relationship just yet."

I closed my eyes in an attempt to suppress a wail. Why did my body, heart and head always want different things?

"I really am sorry," he insisted. "I usually never...you just have such an effect on me."

I laughed as he turned away from me and walked over to the large freezer on the other side of the room. Just to know that I had an _effect_ on someone...wow. Take_ that_, self-esteem.

I shivered uncomfortably from the sudden cold. I hadn't realised how much heat he was exuding when he was standing next to me.

When Jesse returned he held a bottle of a strange clear liquid in one hand and a frighteningly large syringe in the other. I watched with interest and mild horror as he fixed a needle onto the end of the syringe, pierced the foil-like lid of the bottle and filled the syringe with an alarming amount of the liquid. Once he was done he placed the bottle and the syringe on the gurney beside me and told me to hold out my arm.

The size of the needle bugged me, so I held out my left arm since I'm right-handed. I remember how painful shots had been as a child.

"This is a kind of anaesthetic," he informed me. "It will cause vasodilation, which means that the blood will flow away from your major organs so that your body will lose heat faster. It will also affect the temperature control centre in your hypothalamus, increasing the normal temperature control limits and therefore compromising your body's normal cold response system."

He pressed a thumb into the crook of my arm then paused.

"_Querida_, I have never done this before," he told me nervously. "I'm not a doctor. I know the theory behind it and I have seen it being used before, but-"

"Jesse," I broke in, placing my hand over his to ease his shaking. "I trust you...please."

He sighed and pressed the sharp needle against my skin.

"This takes a few minutes to kick in so you should know that I'm going to give you a cold IV to help lower your core body temperature," he added. "Then I'm going to wheel the gurney into the freezer. That way you should have an extra few minutes incase anything goes wrong. It is eight-thirty so I'm going to revive you at nine. You have half an hour to do whatever you need to do. I'm sorry, _querida_, but I'm not leaving you any longer than that."

I smiled and pecked him lightly on the cheek. As I did, I silently summoned Marta and Paul.

"If the reaper comes for you, Marta and Paul will stop it," I told him, looking over to the ghosts in question to make sure that they had heard me. They nodded in recognition.

Then, with a sharp pain, the needle was pressed into my skin. I hissed from the sharp stinging, but it quickly subsided. Jesse withdrew the needle and threw it into a hazardous waste bag by his feet.

"You may want to lie down."

One of his hands slipped beneath my legs while the other gently pushed me onto my back. I sank gratefully into the comfortable blankets that were stretched out on the gurney. The light above me moved as I did, swirling around like a firefly. I tried to reach up to touch it but my arm seemed too heavy and it just wasn't worth the effort.

I could hear a voice talking to me as I felt pressure on one of my arms, then a flood of ice washed through my veins. I tried to call out, to tell whatever it was to stop whatever it was doing but I just couldn't be bothered. Falling asleep and ignoring it seemed so much easier.

Suddenly, I was shaking. I was moving. The light above me flitted out of sight and two blue glowing shapes appeared for a brief moment before flitting away like the light.

I shivered uncomfortably. I hoped they were taking me somewhere warm. I could feel the cold creeping further through my veins as the temperature around me decreased dramatically. My body jerked involuntarily as a voice whispered to me, telling me not to move. Yeah, like I had any choice. I couldn't will my body to _move_ so how the hell could I stop it from jerking like that?

"You're going to be alright," the voice assured me. It sounded so wonderful, like a lullaby, singing me to sleep. Something warm pressed against my cheek and I tried to lean into it but...yes, my body was practically paralysed. Another warm, soft object briefly pressed against the corner of my mouth and parts of me flickered to life, dying slowly as the warmth left and a loud bang threatened to pull me from my dream world.

I would have shivered, but I could barely think by that point. Images flashed before me. Jesse...reaper...George Jensen...kisses...

Suddenly remaining awake seemed like a waste of energy. With one last breath I let go and I was falling deeper and deeper into my dream world, like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, twisting, rushing, floating. Everything faded, including the redness of my eyelids from the external light and then...peace.

**AN - Please review :). **


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